Dammit, Arthur
by moon's the limit
Summary: Sooner or later, Arthur's going to succumb to one of Eames' pick up lines. Srsly, guise. Guise. Srsly.
1. Chapter 1

The first time Eames sees him is at a musky, full of drunks dancing around and horribly singing, bar. Though Eames had around three drinks prior to seeing this figure and is stumbling around laughing at everything said and done, he can still recognize a handsome man when he sees one. And this particular night, his sights land on an individual sitting at the bar in a _suit_.

Eames snorts at the image of such, because, who wears a _suit _to a _bar_ that's _clearly_ meant for drunks that are willing to get down dirty? Apparently that guy over there.

But, suit or not, when the man briefly glances over in his direction, Eames' eyes happen to settle on the young face, and immediately, his breath is taken away from him.

The man, from a second's look, is absolutely _gorgeous_.

Eames doesn't believe in love at first sight or fairy tale endings, but he has a fair idea that, seeing the individual right now, this moment is something like love at first sight (or perhaps lust at first sight). Whatever it is, he finds that he's obsessively attracted to the other just from one look, and of course, when he's obsessively attracted to someone, he _has_ to approach them.

Eames does just that. Sweeping the stray strands of light brown hair out of his eyes, he saddles up close next to the man so that their arms are brushing. That successfully gets the other's attention. When Mr. Bloody Gorgeous peers in his direction to acknowledge him with a distinctive frown, Eames says the first thing that crosses his mind.

"Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"

If not for the fact that he is a trained forger— or actor, whatever people say these days— he would have died of humiliation right now. Luckily, Eames manages to push the temperature in his cheeks down to a bare minimum as he plays off his embarrassment, with a simple grin, for not thinking correctly and using _that_ pick up line with a _very_ attractive stranger.

The man slowly blinks at him, inspecting him with cautious brown eyes. A few counted seconds later, he proceeds to answer. "The first time I saw you, you weren't walking, and even if you do happen to walk by again, it'll be the second time that I see you."

_That voice_. Eames wants it begging and moaning underneath him right now, but he ends up pouting a bit in response. He hates party poopers (in this case, someone with comebacks to his pick up line), but this man may be the only exception.

"Fine," he mumbles, still concealing his embarrassment, "I'll just turn invisible now."

Eames gazes away for a moment, contemplating on another, more wittier, pick up line that he could use. Few moments later, when he's not able to think of one, he glances back at the opposing male. Seeing that the man is posed in a stiffened posture sipping on a drink and obviously ignoring him, Eames leans a few inches closer.

"Can you see me?" he questions, allowing the words to roll off his tongue in a suggestive manner.

The man removes the glass from his lips and peers over at him, looking him once over. "Unfortunately, yes."

A light smirk lifts up on the corner of Eames' mouth as he leers towards the other's ear. "How about tonight, then?" he breathes, feeling his chest touch the male's shoulder.

"That depends on the amount of light. And you smell of alcohol; leave."

Eames pulls back into his space with a barked laugh. He really likes this man, even though the constant rejection is slowly getting to him. Usually, he gets everyone with his accent, charms, and pick up lines, but this man— he's a different story with all his comebacks.

"This is a bar, darling. Alcohol is everywhere." He pauses briefly, his eyes flickering over the other's facial features before returning to the captivating brown orbs. "I'm Eames."

The man appears to survey him for another second before turning back to his drink. "I'm not interested, Mr. Eames."

Well, that's a first.

Fighting a frown, Eames clears his throat and tilts his head slightly in the direction of Mr. Bloody Gorgeous. "I'll have you know that you just rejected a poor bloke three times. At least let me have your name."

His eyes meet with chocolate brown ones again after he finishes drawing out the words. For the silent moment between them, Eames examines the other man closely and takes note that he is stunning at this distance; his dark brown hair is gelled back out of his eyes, giving him a dangerous complexion that matches well with the firm, unwavering look. Eames, at this moment, really, _really_ wants to kiss him, but he wills himself not to.

"Arthur." The answer is clipped but still with a _fuck off_ tone.

Eames ignores the tone, though. "Arthur," he tries out, rolling the last _R_ and extending the name by a second. "I like it. It suits you ... get it, _suits_ you?" He laughs at his own joke.

When Arthur glances away and ignores him, Eames leans against the counter and peers intently at the other, refusing to go anywhere. "You know, Arthur," he drawls, using that as an excuse to say the name again, "I kinda lost my phone number. Can I have yours?"

Arthur's eyes flicker over at him. "I'm not a fan of receiving phone calls from strangers."

Eames doesn't miss a beat as he tactfully answers, "You know my name; I do believe that means we're pass the stage of being strangers."

Arthur, that damn witty bastard, responds without a moment's hesitation. "If you take my number as your own, then I'm bound to be receiving ten each hour."

Is Arthur calling him a whore? He better not be.

"You're too stubborn for your own good." Eames sniffs and considers leaving; really, if Arthur's this complicated, then he would— well, if this _wasn't_ Arthur, he would've been up someone's arse by now. But, unfortunately for his own wants, Arthur's arse is the only one he's interested in at this moment.

"Flattery will get you no where, Mr. Eames." There is a slight taunt in Arthur's words, as if issuing a challenge.

And here, Eames is bound to run out of pick up lines if he's spitting them out at this rate, but he uses another one anyways: "If I could rearrange the letters in the alphabet, I would put _U_ and _I _together."

Arthur's brows furrow a bit at the sound of that. "You have terrible grammar." Of _course_ Arthur would say that.

"Well, it depends on where you put it in a sentence, yes?" _In your face_.

"In your case, it's grammatically incorrect."

Eames tries not to roll his eyes. "You're no fun."

Arthur _finally_ leaves his drink alone and turns to him. "If I could to rearrange the alphabet, I would put _F_ and _U_ together."

On the bright side, it's not like Eames hasn't heard that one before.

He huffs. "Now, that's just cruel, darling."

Arthur narrows his eyes a bit. "Fuck you," he says promptly before turning back to his drink.

"Lovely," Eames quips. "What time?"

Arthur doesn't even bother throwing him a dirty look; he just wordlessly pushes his drink away, stands and disappears out the door. Eames finds himself disappointed.

"That went well," a voice comments.

Eames peers up at the bartender and grins. The man is quite a looker. "Quite," he comments, leaning over a bit. "So, what's your sign?"

— **ox — xo —**

Arthur is not impressed at all. _Pick up lines _were just used on him, and he started spitting comebacks before he could even interpret them. Apparently, the last line caught him off guard, so he simply got up and left, figuring that he no longer needs to be around an unintellectual being. Unfortunately, though, that's not going to be the last time he's going to set sights on Eames (unless he goes blind, which he isn't planning to).

Squashing the thoughts, he unlocks the door to the warehouse and steps inside.

"Well?" Dom asks as Arthur makes his way over.

"No," he replies steadily.

"No?"

Arthur's gaze switches from Dom to the other Cobb, Mallorie— or _Mal_, if he doesn't want to get smacked.

"He'll fuck up everything. His personality is obnoxious, and his outfit looks as if he just stepped out of Hawaii."

Mal laughs, and Dom cracks a small smile. "But he's the best."

Arthur resists the temptation to roll his eyes at Dom's comment. "He doesn't seem like it," he comments, turning around and pulling out his laptop. "I don't like him."

"You don't like anyone," Mal murmurs, patting him on the shoulder before proceeding towards her architectural design.

"We need a forger," Dom reminds him for what seems like the millionth time, "and he's the best one."

Arthur knows he's not winning this argument since Dom is aimed on bringing the drunk, pick up line using, outrageous bastard into the team.

"Fine," he responds, a bit snappy. "But I'm only speaking to him when it's absolutely necessary."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes;;<strong> Suggest pick up lines? o:


	2. Chapter 2

Eames _didn't_ think that he would see this Arthur again, but he is proven wrong the moment he walks into the warehouse the very next morning.

Last night, he was called up by an extractor by the name of Dominic Cobb for a job that desperately needed a forger. After hearing the promised sum, of course Eames accepted it.

And this morning, as he strolls in and takes a good look around, he is certainly glad that he takes up the job.

Though the man's back is facing him, and he's wearing a button-up instead of the whole suit attire from yesterday, Eames can still recognize that ass— wait, no; he can still recognize _Arthur_ (that's better ... but he recognizes that ass too). And since the man is _clearly_ Arthur, Eames can't help but stroll over.

Once near, he takes special note that Arthur's hands freeze for a second over the papers, but before he can interpret the movement, the skilled hands are shuffling the papers together. Eames uses this opportunity to move behind the man and place both of his hands on the slim hips as he leans close to the Arthur's ear.

"I'm here," he breathes softly. "What are your other two wishes?"

In all honesty, Eames expects Arthur to either ice on the spot or shove him off, but, proving him wrong, Arthur continues shuffling the papers, acting as if Eames isn't even touching him (which kinda messes with Eames' objective).

What he gets, though, is a cold response: "Remove your hands."

Of course, Eames doesn't, because this is all too amusing for him to move away.

He decides to tease Arthur a bit more by slipping his arms around the body and pulling it flush against him.

"Kiss me if I'm wrong, but isn't your name ... Xavier?" he asks, vaguely noting how Arthur's body perfectly fits into his arms.

Okay, so _maybe_ Eames should have expected to be elbowed in the stomach and then kicked in the nuts, but you can't blame him for trying. _Really_, is it that hard to get into this man's pants?

"Ow, that actually hurts," he wheezes, clutching his stomach while checking if everything's still down there with his other hand. They are, thankfully.

"I was hoping it did." Arthur turns to him, a stack of papers in his arms. "And I'm certain that you are aware that my name is not Xavier."

Eames straightens up a bit, but this time, he doesn't attempt to draw close again; he seriously doesn't need his balls bruised today. "Oh? I know a lot of people. It's hard to match up faces with names."

Arthur gives him an irritated look before handing him the stack of papers. "Then, my name is not important. This is all the information gathered on the mark and his current family and relationships. Read them thoroughly. You will, more than likely, be forging as the mark's sister. You can forge females, correct?"

Eames peers up from flipping through the papers. He grins. "Of course. What do you take me for? I _am_ the very best." He glances back at the stack of papers in his hands for a moment before his brows furrow a bit. "I'll have you know that I haven't read this much since 12th grade English. Can you give me the simplified version?" He peers up and meets Arthur's steady, and still irritated, expression.

"No. Read, Mr. Eames. The Cobbs will be back momentarily."

Arthur then turns back to mess with _more_ paper, and Eames finds himself staring at Arthur's ass, because it's just _there_ and begging to be touched.

He wonders what Arthur would do if he _accidentally_ gropes him. What is the worse he can do? Nothing that Eames can't handle ... right?

"Eames, start reading."

Oceanic eyes snap up to the back of the man's head. Eames is very tempted to do, or say, something else, but he settles with a simple, really harmless question. "Do I get a kiss?"

Arthur ignores him.

_Bastard_.

"_Arthurrr_," he calls out, rolling out the name once more.

This time, he manages to snag Arthur's attention; the other turns around to face him, looking torn between being pissed and being calm. "I will only say this once, Mr. Eames: kindly seat yourself somewhere, preferably far from where I am, and read the information. I will not tolerate your behavior in this work environment."

The forger sniffs. "You sound like an old man," he comments before shuffling over to a chair and sitting down.

Arthur, again, ignores him by turning back to his work.

Eames reads the first few pages about the mark, but within five minutes, his attention draws to Arthur, because, face it, Arthur is interesting on whatever he does, or at least, interesting in Eames' eyes.

"You know," he starts after a bit. "If looks could kill, you would be a weapon of mass destruction."

Arthur's reply is almost instant. "I hope to kill you first, then."

Eames' bottom lip juts out a bit, but since Arthur isn't look at him, his pout goes unnoticed. "That's not nice."

"I'm not a nice person."

_Obviously_.

"I can see that, but can I still take a picture of you so I can show Santa the _naughty_ boy I want for Christmas? I've been good. Promise."

"Kindly shut the fuck up."

Eames does for a bit, but it's only because he's racking through his memory for another pick up line that wouldn't sound too cheesy. Moments later, a smirk creeps up on his lips.

"Hey—"

"No."

Well, that's rude.

"I haven't even—"

"No."

Eames huffs softly. "You know, rejection can lead to emotional stress for both parties involved and emotional stress can lead to physical complications, such as headache, heartaches, which can eventually lead to death. So just say yes."

"School taught me to just say _no_."

Eames crosses his legs and folds his arms over his chest. "Is it that hard to say yes?"

"No."

This Arthur is really complicated, and usually Eames' not the sort to mess with complicated people, but hey, Arthur has a nice ass, okay?

The forger leans back against his seat and continues to watch the younger man type away on his laptop. After a few counted seconds of silence, Eames pushes his tongue through his lips to wet it, and Arthur happens to _not_ catch that motion, since he's too busy looking at the laptop screen. _Seduction fail_.

Eames, refusing defeat that easily, continues to try to get the other's attention by staring at him. During the one-sided staring contest, he personally asks himself how anyone can be this attractive. Eames knows that he, himself, is _very_ attractive, and Arthur ... well, Arthur is _getting there_. Okay. Maybe he's _already there_. But same thing (kinda).

"So," Eames starts nonchalantly, "when are you going back to Heaven?"

Type, type, type.

Ignore, ignore, ignore.

"Arthur, I must say that I adore every bone in your body, especially _mine_."

Continuous ignoring.

"Be unique and different, say yes."

Arthur heaves a loud sigh and massages the bridge of his nose. "Can you please focus?"

"Perhaps, if you give me a kiss."

"_Eames_."

"If I were to ask you out on a date, would your answer be the same as the answer to this question?"

"_Please_, Mr. Eames."

Eames beams. "I love it when you beg." He then moves the papers out of his lap and stands up.

As he makes his way over, Arthur closes his laptop and stands up to greet him. _How nice_.

"I can make your dreams come true," Eames starts, his voice dripping with seduction.

"You're pissing me off." The man counters, glaring at him.

Eames leans over the desk a little. "And I'm allergic to no, but addicted to yes."

"I swear—" The warehouse's door opens. "Dom, he's here." Eames lifts his gaze over and takes in the sights of a blond male and a very attractive female— Dom's wife, if he isn't mistaken. "I'm going out for fresh air. Make sure he reads _all_ the information."

Eames blinks as he watches Arthur grabs his coat. "Can I come?" he questions, even though he knows the answer quite well.

"No." _Isn't that a surprise_.

Eames pretends to sneeze.

"Bless you, dear," the female says as she passes him.

The moment she passes, Eames' eyes are no longer on Arthur. His gaze trails after the young female, watching as she seats herself next to her work.

Seconds later, in the background, he hears a door closing, but he doesn't pay much attention to that.

— **ox — xo —**

There's no doubt that Arthur's going to end up murdering Eames before sunset today, which is, fortunately for Eames, in a couple of hours.

His fingers fumble for a cigarette, and even though he's _supposed_ to quit, he ends up lighting it and placing it in between his lips anyways.

It calms him down a little, but not much, since his mind is whirling around the Englishman, his stupid pick up lines, and the way he fucking says his name. _Arthurrr, Arrrthur, Arrrthurrr_. It's positively annoying.

He desperately needs to approach Dom about this matter and offer another forger in place of Eames. He had found, when he was on his laptop, that the next nearest forger's location is in Quebec, Canada, and that's only a six hour flight away. But unfortunately, Arthur knows quite well that Dom is going to end up saying no.

... what if he tells him that he's allergic to no and addicted to yes?

Now, that's just stupid; Eames is getting to his head, and that's never a good sign.

Brushing the thoughts aside, Arthur removes the cigarette from his lips and lets out the smoke. It relaxes him for a mere second, and then he returns to thinking about why Eames should be in kindergarten rather than an illegal job suited for _mature_ _adults_.

Well, there are a few; obviously, Eames is not serious enough and would eventually cause them the entire job. And then there's the flirting, the pick up lines, the obnoxious clothing, the touching, _the pick up lines_, the God-given lips, the muscular body, the asdfghjkl _tattoos_, the stubbornness, the way he distracts Arthur, and oh, _the fucking pick up lines_.

Placing the cigarette between his lips once more, Arthur continues walking down the barely crowded sidewalk as calmly as he can manage. He soon realizes that he's going to have to deal with Eames, since Dom insists that he _is_ the best (and Arthur can't really deny it, since there are statistics and all); luckily, this isn't a long job that spans over a week, so that's the good news. For now, he'll just ignore everything Eames says— or _try _to ignore.

Holding onto that thought, Arthur drops his cigarette to the ground and puts it out with the heel of his shoes. Then, picking it up (since he doesn't believe in unnecessary littering), he tosses it into the nearest trash bin before reverting his steps and heading back to warehouse.

As he steps inside, he takes special notice that Dom is examining the architecture of the dream's layout, and Eames is making Mal laugh with a few whispered words.

Somehow, this really irritates Arthur, but he tries not to show it as he returns to his desk. He doesn't know whether or not he's ticked or glad that Eames no longer paying attention to him, but there's not really a reason to be ticked, is there? Well, Eames' low voiced words, that make Mal look as if she's having the time of her life, are really getting on his nerves.

It's only in a matter of time that he finally glances up from his laptop and glares at the two. "Can we focus?" he asks.

Mal turns to him smiling, and Arthur, for the moment, is awestruck, because Mal's smile has the ability to render him wordless. "Sorry, Arthur. He's hilarious, though."

"I can see that," Arthur says bitterly.

She gives him another smile before excusing herself and walking over to her husband. _Thank you._

This leaves Eames free to walk over to his desk. _Never mind the word of thanks._

Arthur's heart sorta skips a beat or _something_, but he thinks nothing of it as he forces himself to ignore Eames (as planned) by looking back at his laptop screen. It's not as easy to ignore him, though, as Arthur discovers only seconds later.

"I bet you that your legs are tired; you've been running across my mind all day."

Arthur bites down on his tongue in attempt to not say anything.

"Ah, pulling the hard to get attitude, aren't you?"

Arthur bites down harder on his tongue. He really doesn't want to cuss Eames out.

"If I had a say in any of this, I'd say that you were jealous. Not to worry though, darling; my interests only lie with you."

Okay. That's _it_.

"Do you ever shut up?" Arthur turns his chair and faces the forger. "And have you comprehended the papers I gave you earlier?" Arthur knows the answer is no.

"Actually, I have."

_Well, that's surprising._

Arthur gives him a pointed look. "What's the mark's father's predominant activity?"

"Gardening."

That fucker.

Arthur lets out a calming breath before turning back to his laptop. "Leave me alone."

"Answer a question first."

"No."

Eames fakes a sneeze again, giving Arthur no choice but to look over. "Stop that."

Eames grins at him. "Are you from Tennessee?"

"No."

"Because you're the only _ten_ I see."

"All your pick up lines are horrible."

"But it got your attention, didn't it?"

Arthur narrows his eyes, then wills himself to ignore the other.

Eames eventually leaves him alone when Mal, what an angel, calls him over. In return, Arthur isn't bothered until nine, when Dom decides that they should pack up for the night.

As Arthur puts his laptop into its given bag, Eames approaches him (no surprise there).

"Hello, love. I'm new around this area, and I was just wondering if I could get directions to your current residence."

Arthur doesn't even bother to throw Eames a look; he simply slings his laptop bag over his right shoulder and leaves without a word.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes;;<strong> Yes, this is a crack fic that will involve flustered moments, OOCness at times, pick up lines, innuendos, Mal, mentions of Mal's death (because, you know, she died and all), fluff / cute moments, teddy bears, pick up lines, cheese, parrots, trollolols, a sad attempt in **pitiful** / dry **humor**, and more pick up lines. Thank you all for suggesting the pick up lines and reviewing ~ c:


	3. Chapter 3

"I don't have a library card—" Eames starts happily, but is immediately cut off by an obviously unhappy point man.

"I didn't expect you to."

He ignores it to the best of his ability and continues. "—but I'm still checking you out!" The forger pauses for a brief moment before asking, "Why do you have to ruin every pick up line?"

Wordlessly, Arthur gives him a firm look, then turns away.

As a frown dawns upon him, Eames' lips press into a line.

It's the last day of their job together and everyone (save Eames) is packing up. He's strung on getting a date with Arthur— even if it's for a simple drink, but Arthur's as stubborn as a mule.

There must be _something_ he can do or say. Maybe his pick up lines aren't cheesy and heart-warming enough. That could be it.

Now, what is a really cheesy pick up line? Hm ... "I hope you know CPR, because you take my breath away." _Well_, it sounded better in his head.

And Arthur doesn't even glance in his direction, but the pick up line doesn't go unnoticed; he replies with, "You'll be better off unconscious."

It's funny how he happens to be attracted to a man who obviously doesn't wish him well, but Eames isn't giving in yet. He's definitely getting a date with Arthur, and if he plays his cards right, he might be able to get into Arthur's pants. Or vice versa; he doesn't really need the date, he just wants to see Arthur come undone. That's not too much to ask, is it?

Closing the distance between them, Eames turns the fellow point man around, grabs his hips, and pulls him close.

"I don't know how beautiful you truly are," he whispers, peering into Arthur's disapproving gaze, "because I haven't gotten past your eyes."

Arthur has that _bitch, I will cut you_ face as he answers, "I caught you staring at my ass various times." Blunt and without a blink of an eye. _So_ Arthur.

Eames ignores the fact that his pick up line is ruined again and leans in. He immediately feels Arthur stiffening, but he doesn't move away.

_Ah_, so he's making it into a game. Eames is very good at games, especially this sort of game.

Leaning towards the ear, he breathed softly. "I've been whomping my willow thinking about you."

Arthur's brows furrow. "That's enough, Mr. Eames," he states, but continues to stay in place.

Eames sees that as an invitation to leers a bit closer so that they are a breath apart. "I bet you twenty dollars that I can kiss you without using my lips."

"I make thousands from one job alone. Twenty wouldn't change anything."

"Fine. I'll bet you a thousand."

Arthur stares into his gaze for a moment, and Eames can practically see the gears grinding in the other's head as he puts the last few words into consideration, but in the end, he settles with a simple "fuck off" and makes a move to turn away.

Eames doesn't allow that and grips the slim hips tightly. "I can," he insists.

Again, Arthur stares at him, observing him. After a few seconds, a playful glint travels over the man's eyes. "Alright. Try me."

And Eames does; he leans in, eyes closing, and presses his lips against the soft ones.

It's a simple, short kiss: no tongue, no heat— just a mere brush of the lips before Eames pulls back and admits defeat. "I lost." _No surprise there_.

For a second, Arthur does nothing but blinks and peers at him, as if trying to make sense of the action that should be fucking obvious. After a bit, Eames is shoved back a bit. "Go away."

How about a _no_, hm? "Do I get another kiss?"

"No. And before you sneeze, _no_." Arthur pushes him out of the desk area.

Eames can't complain, though. He managed to snag a kiss from this man, and even though he wants more— a whole lot more— for now, he'll just marvel on how soft Arthur's lips are. Thoroughly content, Eames sits down and watches the point man from the distance.

Arthur is graceful; that's one thing he realizes. The way he moves is much like a swan— not literally, but it reminds him of the grace of a swan. It's almost mesmerizing the way he's sorting papers and cleaning up. And when he glances up and their gazes meet, Eames feels his heart thrashing like a wild lion in a cage. Arthur quickly looks off, though, and Eames ends up clearing his throat. "The one thing your eyes haven't told me is your number."

"My number is for business only."

Eames should feel offended, but he ends up smiling. "I'm your co-worker, am I not?"

Arthur peers up in his direction. "I don't plan to work with you again, Mr. Eames."

Okay, _now_ he's offended.

He pouts and makes a show of how upset he is by sulking.

Arthur doesn't pay him any attention.

That's not cool.

Shifting out of the chair, Eames makes his way over to his jacket that he slung over another chair and pulls it on. As he makes his way back, Arthur is bidding his farewells to the Cobbs and walking to the the door of the warehouse. Eames quickly catches up with him. "So, can I buy you a drink or do you just want the money?"

Arthur doesn't spare him a look as he opens the door and steps out. "You do owe me a thousand, since you lost the bet." He then turns and faces him, quirking a brow slightly.

Eames digs out his wallet. "How about a drink and the money?"

"I'm not a prostitute."

"I wasn't asking for sex," the forger replied, fingers freezing over his wallet as his eyes peer up through his lashes, "but that works too."

Arthur gives him a pointed look before tossing a farewell in his direction. "Good bye, Mr. Eames."

— **ox — xo —**

"You're like a dictionary; you add meaning to my life."

Arthur nearly groans at the sound of that voice, and not the groan of pleasure, but the groan of _why the fuck are you doing at this airport when I just left you twenty minutes ago with a farewell that clearly means go fuck yourself_. He considers telling Eames off, but he settles with ignoring him. Again, this doesn't work.

"Wouldn't we look cute on a wedding cake together?"

"I hate wedding cake," Arthur replies in a grumble as he turns to face Eames. "Go away."

"Not when your lips are looking lonely."

Arthur's brows furrow. "Pardon?"

"Would they like to meet mine?" Eames leans close.

For a moment, Arthur's gaze settles on the lips that are only a few breaths away. It's actually quite tempting to lean in and touch the soft lips once more, but Arthur quickly bats off the idea. He doesn't want to get caught on camera kissing in an airport.

He nudges Eames away and gives his passport and ticket to the checker. After having it approved, Arthur quickly makes his way in and attempts to get lost in the crowd.

Five minutes later, Eames finds him. Arthur swears the other is a Hufflepuff or something. What kind of name is _Hufflepuff_ anyways? Arthur can't imagine himself signing documents with that last name. Arthur _Hufflepuff_. _Arthur_ _Hufflepuff_. Arthur— what the hell is a Hufflepuff anyways and why is he even processing information about Harry Potter?

Shaking the thought off, he dawns down on what Eames is saying.

"... something wrong with my eyes; I can't take them off you."

Ah, another pathetic pick up line that_ totally _doesn't make his heart start pounding.

"Then, close them." Arthur picks up his pace in attempt to lose Eames.

That, apparently, doesn't happen.

"Just so you know, I'm usually the thief. I steal all the hearts, but the moment I saw you, you stole my heart."

Arthur stops and stares at Eames.

Eames returns the look. "Now, will you kiss me, or do I have to lie to my diary?"

Arthur considers it for a moment before leaning in and hissing his response. "No." He pulls away and makes his way to the assigned airplane.

"You can't just leave me hanging, darling!" Eames exclaims, tailing him.

Arthur turns in his ticket and shows the passport before turning to Eames. "You're going to miss your flight."

Eames touches his elbow lightly. "I just want to taste an angel's lips again before he leaves." There's a soft look in Eames' oceanic eyes that Arthur can't help but notice.

"Sir, if you are not going to board the plane, please move out of the way."

Arthur apologizes to the flight attendant before moving towards the plane. But before he makes it into the attached hallway, Eames grabs his elbow. "Just a quick kiss."

Arthur looks back to see Eames smiling at him. It warm his heart, but he refuses to succumb this easily.

"Good bye, Mr. Eames," he says a final time before jerking his arm away and making his way towards the plane.

* * *

><p><strong>Note;;<strong> No offense to Hufflepuffs. They're darling, really ... _really_. Thank you for the reviews! And if you have more pick up lines, feel free to submit them! x3


	4. Chapter 4

Eames is lingering around the casino, watching gamblers lose with mild interest. His arms are crossed over his chest, eyes piercing the people surrounding him. His fingers are brushing lightly against the red poker chip in his hand, palming and drumming. He is extremely bored, since he had given up gambling a few minutes ago because he lost all that he had brought with him. He considers stealing— _ahem_, borrowing without asking— but decides against it when his phone vibrates against his leg.

He isn't entirely sure who it is, considering that he rarely gives out his actual number to anyone. It only makes it worse when the number is restricted.

With a frown playing at his lips, Eames places the cellular device against his ear as he briskly walks towards the restroom to move away from the noise.

"Hello?"

"Mr. Eames, I have a job to propose to you."

It takes him a few moments, but he finally catches onto the familiar voice. His heart picks up a bit as he realizes who he is on the phone with. "Why, Arthur, isn't this a pleasant surprise?"

"We're performing an extraction on a mark, and we are in need of a forger."

"You know, I really need a particular point man in my life, or my life will be pointless."

There's a brief pause, one in which Eames is _sure_ that Arthur is hesitating.

"We'll be meeting in Dublin."

"Say, are you from Ireland? Because every time I think of you, my penis is Dublin."

Another brief pause. A hitch of breath. A scowl. "If you happen to accept the job and board the plane leaving your area at three, I will meet you at the airport at seven sharp, which is when your flight arrives."

"Giving me a ride? How darling of you! Although, I prefer being dominant." Eames is grinning from amusement and maybe because he's talking to Arthur, who clearly stated that they weren't going to work or see each other again a good year ago.

"The dominant can take it up the ass, Eames, and will that be a yes or a no? I don't have time to chit chat."

Well, Eames isn't expecting that response, but two can play the game. "Yes or no to taking it up the arse?"

Arthur sighs. "To the job."

"Right. Mm, alright, if it means that I can see you and your lovely—"

"I'll see you in five hours. If you are late, I will leave you stranded at the airport." The other line clicks off.

Eames turns off his phone with a soft chuckle. He's going to see Arthur again. And Mal. _Fabulous_.

Within an hour, he happens to catch a flight to Dublin. The plane trip itself isn't as bad, considering that he spends most of his time conjuring pick up lines to use on the dear point man. By time the plane lands at 6:47, Eames has an entire list in his head.

Ushering out, he peers at his watch. 6:59. He has time. He slows his pace to a brisk walk, streaming through people to get to the point where a crowd is gathered to welcome people on the plane. With one look around, he spots Arthur out of the sea of people. He is, after all, the only on in a suit with his haired slicked back and his dark eyes sharp.

Eames makes his way over, grin playing on his lips once more. "And here, I thought I was good looking." His eyes skim over the point man once more.

Nothing changed about Arthur. He's obviously still a stick in the mud, even though he's bloody gorgeous, just like Eames remembers.

"Come on."

"No _hello_?" Eames drawls out as he catches up with Arthur, who is walking at a rather fast pace out of the airport.

"We don't have time. This job needs to be done by tomorrow night. If you stopped handing out fake phone numbers out, I would have found you earlier."

Eames sniffs while tucking himself into the passenger seat. "You could have had my number if you just asked, darling."

"Put on a seat belt."

The forger heaves a soft sigh as he straps himself in. He was hoping that Arthur would be a litle more _free_, but from the sounds of it, he's only gotten more serious.

They arrive at the warehouse, and Eames is kissed hello by Mal, who had her hair cut to her shoulders. After a bit of lingering, Eames is given another packet of information to which he is forced to read over. Like always, though, he simply skims the information before allowing his attention to trail over to Arthur who is scribbling something down.

"I stll need your number for insurance purposes," he begins after a few ticking seconds.

Arthur looks up at him, dark eyes glaring. "Pardon?"

A smile threatens the corners of Eames' mouth, but he suppresses it. "I was blinded by your beauty, so I need your number for insurance purposes."

At first, it appears like Arthur is about to attack him, but after a moment's glare, the point man returns to his work.

"You need to charm him."

Eames glances over at Mal, who is examining him with bright eyes and a knowing smile.

"But I am charming, yes?" He flashes his heart-racing grin.

Mal laughs. "You are, but that's not the exact charming Arthur wants," she replies in a hush whisper so that Dom and Arthur can't hear.

"What charm does he want, then?" Eames returns, peering over at the working figure and letting his breath catch in his throat unexpectedly.

"It would spoil the fun if I tell you, no?"

Eames' eyes snap back to the architect. "You're cruel," he states.

She beams over at him. "I've been told."

With a huff, he climbs to his feet. "Challenge accepted, dear."

Moving away from her, Eames makes his way back to Arthur with a fairly good pick up line in his head.

"Arthur," he purrs out, "if a thousand painters painted for a thousand years, they wouldn't be able to create a master pierce as beautiful as you."

It somewhat works, since Arthur pauses at his writing. "Don't flatter me."

"It's not flattery if it's true." Eames responds.

Arthur glances up, then frowns and returns to writing. "Go away, Eames."

"If beauty was time, then you would be eternity," the forger continues, refusing to give in.

"That's enough, Mr. Eames."

Arthur doesn't pay him any more special attention until that night when Arthur announces that they will be sharing a hotel room, since Mal (that devious woman) informed him that the only room available was one with double queen beds.

Eames, thoroughly content with this, does his best not to irritate the fuck out of Arthur by using pick up lines on the way there, but he ends up getting the hotel room door slammed in his face anyways.

"Come on, Arthur. I was joking— sorta, kinda." He knocks on the door a couple of times before the point man allows him in with a strict warning.

For the next hour, they take turns using the shower, and for the proceeding hour, Eames spends time holding an actual conversation with the Arthur. They talk about Dom and Mal, and their daughter, Phillipa. They marvel over Mal's beauty and Dom's squint. And then, at eleven, they retire to their rightful beds.

Eames, though, isn't a bit tired. He lays on his side, watching Arthur trying to sleep. Arthur's hair that curls in various places had fallen over his forehead and eyes, making him appear much younger than he actually is. He's wearing a white t-shirt that's loose around his upper body. His lips are slightly parted for breathing.

_This is how he is relaxed_, his mind supplies. Eames can't help but allow a soft smile to ease on his lips. Arthur is _adorable_.

A few moments later, Arthur opens one eye. "Stop staring." he grumbles, turning away from the forger.

Eames inches towards the edge of his own bed, not listening to Arthur's command, and continues watching the other while batting away the idea that he's acting like a creeper. When an idea comes to him minutes later, he props himself up on one elbow. "Arthur, are you awake?"

"Shut the hell up. I'm trying to sleep."

"I lost something."

Arthur scowls. "If this is another one of your pick up lines—"

"I always sleep with my teddy, and now, since he's not here, I'm feeling a bit deprived. Can I sleep with you?"

"No."

"But I can't sleep, because my reality is better than my dreams." Actually, no, it's not. In his dreams, Arthur is writhing underneath him, but for the sake of the pick up line, he lies.

"Go to sleep, Mr. Eames," Arthur stresses.

— **ox — xo —**

Arthur never thought that someone would go to the extend of buying gifts just to get into someone's pants, but that's exactly what he arrives to. He's usually the first person in the warehouse, but this time, his eyes catches a bouquet of flowers— no, of _roses_— on his desk. They are fresh, giving Arthur the hint that someone was here and obvously not here now.

It was probably Eames, but he doesn't have the key, and when Arthur got up this morning, he was still in bed.

Okay, then. Maybe it's Mal.

Strolling over, Arthur peers down at the bundle of red roses. Out of the sea of red and green is a white card. Without much thought, Arthur picks it up and reads it in a murmur. "If you stand in front of the mirror with these eleven roses, you'll see the world's twelve most beautiful things."

He sniffs.

It's definitely Eames. There isn't a doubt about that.

And it's actually ... sweet.

Okay, Arthur admits he's a sucker for these romantic gestures, but it's still _Eames_, and— his heart should _not_ be pounding against his chest this fast right now. He shouldn't even be blushing.

With a slight scowl, Arthur puts the card down, seats himself down and pulls out his laptop.

It's nearly an hour later that he is disturbed. After greeting Mal and Dom, he gets a face full of a particular forger.

"Looks like you have an admirer," Eames says cheerfully, leaning against his desk with a bright smile.

Arthur squashes his fluttering heart and peers up at the other. "Thank you, Mr. Eames." He honestly tries to squash his smile, but he feels the corners of his lips quirking up a bit into a very faint one.

"You're quite welcome, darling. Now, did the sun come out or did you just smile at me?"

Moment ruined.

The soft smile drops from the corner of Arthur's lips as a frown takes over. "Get to work."

"As expected," Eames murmurs with a slight huff.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes;;<strong> Thank you all for reviewing and leaving pick up lines! I'll try fitting them in if I can (hopefully I can). Sorry for the late update; I couldn't access a computer long enough to edit and submit this part. Anyways, I hope you guys are content with this chapter ~ :B


	5. Chapter 5

Eames actually _does _see him again, despite the fact that Arthur claimed he wouldn't.. It's been quite a long time since their last meet. Eames, truthfully, hadn't thought about the point man for more than a week after their departure, but as he enters the warehouse that Arthur had given him directions to, all he can think about is _Arthur, Arthur, Arthur._

Immediately, his lips curl into a soft smirk as a devious thought crosses his mind. _It's time to mess with dear Arthur_.

Straightening up, Eames briskly walks over to the point man.

"Hello, darling," he greets, leaning over the desk to peer at what Arthur is typing into his laptop.

"Mr. Eames," Arthur responds dully without bothering to look over. "The information is on the corner of my desk."

Eames ignores the instantaneous attempt to start work. "I just want to give you the satisfaction of turning me down; go ahead, say no."

He watches as Arthur tenses up, but then visibly tries calming himself by closing his eyes and exhaling.

Eames can't help but grin at that. He's already ruffling Arthur's feathers within a minute of seeing him.

"I'm in no mood to deal with your atrocious behavior today, Eames. Please take the papers and go."

There is a hint of strain in the other's voice, making Eames vaguely curious.

"Why, you're still**—**"

"Mr. Eames!" Arthur snaps, standing up, dark eyes peering over at him with murderous intentions.

The smile slips from Eames' face.

Something is definitely wrong. It's obvious.

"Okay, okay," he says cautiously. "Calm down."

Keeping his eyes on him, Eames picks up the stack of papers and backs away.

As he seats himself, he continues to watch as Arthur lets out a few more breaths before sitting down. He then turns his gaze to Cobb, who is reading something in a desk across the warehouse and not showing an ounce of attention towards him or Arthur's anger.

On top of that, Eames notices another thing.

"Where's Mal?" he questions, glancing over at Arthur.

The sound of the question casts a silencing spell over the room. Arthur's typing stopped, and Cobb's shuffling halted as well.

Okay, then.

For a few seconds, no one does anything.

Mal must be a touchy subject.

Eames clears his throat and quirks a brow, urging Arthur to answer him.

After a while, Arthur speaks.

"Don't mention her," he says firmly.

And the typing and shuffling slowly resumes.

Eames isn't entirely sure _what_ happened, but there's an obvious warning tone in Arthur's voice, telling him to not ask why, at least, not _now_. So, he waits until the day over, which is actually easier said than done, since he's itching to know.

When Dom _finally_ steps out, Eames' gaze snaps over to the point man. "What happened?"

He watches as Arthur slams his laptop close and stands up.

It's obvious that something bad happened, otherwise Arthur wouldn't be acting this way.

"I told you not to mention her again." Arthur is practically seething as he packs up and makes his way out of the warehouse.

Eames quickly follows. "Whatever happened to dear Mal is equally my concern."

Arthur spare him a look of pity. "You don't even know her." He then locks the warehouse up and starts off in a direction opposite of Eames' hotel.

Ignoring that, the forger quickly tails the other once more. "But I deserve to know. She is my friend."

"No, she's not." _That's rude_. "Go away."

Eames sighs and grabs Arthur's shoulders, stopping him. He had a bunch to say in his head, but the moment his eyes land on the expression**—** the eyes flaunting _pain_**—** he forget them. Whatever Mal did wounds Arthur; he looks as if he can cry, but plays it off with a scowl.

"You're so beautiful that you made me forget my pick up line ... Let's go for coffee."

Arthur glowers. "No, Eames. _No_. I don't need**—** we**—** I'm kicking you off the team. You will leave. _Now_. And you will not ask about her." Arthur's words are stiff as he jerks away from Eames' grasp.

Eames doesn't bother leaving. How can he? He needs to know.

"Stop texting me while you're at it. The last thing I need is a message telling me I have a new text when I'm trying to make an emergency call."

Well, there goes wooing Arthur through texts.

"Shh, darling. Don't get worked up. Come on, let's go for**—**"

Arthur _slaps_ him.

Eames, feeling the tingle in cheeks, can only stare at the other in confusion.

"She's dead," he spits out. "She killed herself."

Eames watches as Arthur's eyes glazes over for a split second before he turns and ushers off.

This time, he doesn't follow. Shock is already beginning to consume him.

Mal, the lively one that helped him get Arthur to smile a year or two ago? How did _that _happen?

There are so many unanswered questions that he would love to ask, but he knows better than that. It's best to leave it as it is.

Thoughts still lingering on Arthur's last few words, Eames strolls into a cafe, gets a cup of coffee, and just thinks.

He can't believe it. They must be pulling his leg. He hopes that that is the case. Mal just can't be _dead_.

The forger closes his eyes and lets out a calming breath.

Her death _does _explain why Dom is unbearably silent and Arthur is more pissed off than usual.

He just ... can't comprehend _why_ Mal would do something like that.

What drove her to it? Had she thought about suicide the last time he saw her?

These questions make his grip on the coffee mug tighten. He doesn't think that she thought about it back then, so it must be recent. But _why_?

Eames doesn't want to think about it.

He downs the rest of his drink before getting up and heading to his hotel.

He is restless throughout the night, and from the looks of it, Arthur and Dom had a sleepless night as well. The warehouse is dreadfully quiet.

Eames, having nothing to do but wait for Arthur to finish with the reports, takes a pleasure in watching the younger man. He watches as Arthur scribbles away, and he bets Arthur's handwriting is as flawless as Arthur himself.

It's probably neat, small, and in cursive**—** fitting to a serious point man such as Arthur.

Just watching him brings a soft smile to his lips, despite the news of Mal's death lingering at the corner of his mind.

He finds that he _likes_ Arthur, despite their differences and the fact that Arthur probably wants to claw his eyes out. He isn't sure what attracts him to this particular man. Perhaps it's the way Arthur responds to him? Eames doesn't know; all he knows is that his heart beats wildly every time he thinks about Arthur.

Now, Eames isn't very outspoken about his _actual_ feelings. He flirts plenty, but Arthur**—** Arthur's a different story. There are other men that are clearly more gorgeous than Arthur, but Arthur's strangely the only one his heart races to.

Eames jerks his sights away.

He wants Arthur.

That thought just makes him tense.

He has never actually wanted someone this much before. It's entirely foreign to him, but that doesn't mean that he's giving in. Mal stated that there was a certain way to woo Arthur. From the looks of it, gifts and flattery worked. It won't harm to do it again.

Eames turns back to observe the point man. He wants to say something, but disturbing the silence would probably upset Arthur, so he settles with texting.

_'You look lovely, as always_.'

After reading that a thousand times, he presses send and watches the scene unfold.

— **ox — xo —**

Arthur is clearly not in the mood for any monkey business. Much to his luck, Eames isn't clowning around like usual, making him think that Eames is actually affected by Mal's death as well.

Arthur grits his teeth together at the thought of that.

It's been a few months since that incident**—** since that day Dom came over in hysterics and wouldn't tell him what happened until two days later. It was horrible**—** the first two weeks he was informed of her death. But, gradually, it got better. Dom and he started jobs once more. Everything was going well until Eames came up and asked what happened to Mal.

Arthur told Dom that inviting Eames into the team was a bad idea, but the job requires a forger, and Eames is the absolute best.

Exhaling slowly, he pushes the thoughts out of his head.

He needs to get to work on the reports that he should have done last night but didn't, because he was sulking. Putting his mind back on his work, Arthur continues to scribble away. Seconds in, he feels his pocket vibrate once, telling him that it's a text. Naturally, he assumes that it's Eames and ignores it, but a little part of him urges him to read it, just in case it may contain a job offer or a warning. Arthur places his pen down and fishes out his phone.

The moment he reads the words, he feels his heart softening. Though the words are overused, Arthur can never get enough compliments. It simply fuels him ... but it isn't enough to distract him.

Clasping the phone close, he sets it aside and returns to his work.

It doesn't buzz for the rest of the day.

It actually doesn't do anything until the next morning when he's at his desk, researching the mark's background. This time, it's a phone call. And it's from Eames.

With a sigh, Arthur presses the cellular device against his ear. "Yes, Eames?"

"Frap or Cap?"

Arthur's brows draw together. "Pardon?"

"Do you prefer a frappuccino or a cappuccino?"

"Cappuccino**—**"

Before Arthur can ask why, Eames hangs up. Arthur's face immediately darkens. No one hangs up on him._ No one_. Not even Eames**—** but that bastard just did.

Scowling into his laptop screen, he decides that that isn't important enough to draw his attention away from his main business, and resumes typing.

Ten minutes later, Eames arrives and places a Starbucks cup on his desk. Arthur immediately forgets to lecture him about hanging up abruptly when the smell of coffee reaches his nose. He's absolutely tempted to reach out and snag the cup, but he resists and peers up at Eames. "What is that?"

"A cappuccino."

"Why is it on my desk?"

"Because it's for you."

Arthur's eyebrows furrow a bit, but he reaches over and takes it before Eames can snatch it away and demand a kiss for the coffee. "Thanks."

Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches Eames' grateful smile. "Not at all. Anything to please you, Arthur."

So maybe Eames isn't _that_ bad, especially after the coffee move, but still, he's expecting a pick up line to hit him like a train some time soon.

And speaking of such**—** "Can you explain something to me, darling?"

Arthur peers up from reading. "Explain what?"

Eames put his hand out. "Give me your hand."

Arthur frowns. "No."

"It's for a demonstration."

"Use your own hand."

"It's easier to do it on yours, since you're facing me."

Arthur is a bit wary of the situation, but he sticks out his hand. Eames curls his fingers around his own, making Arthur's heart skip a beat, before turning it palms up. "Alright. Say this is river." Eames traces his finger down Arthur's wrist. "There is a bunny**—**"

"How is the relevant to the job?"

"Don't interrupt me. It's rude."

Arthur sniffs and tries pulling away, but Eames keeps his grip tight. "As I was saying, the bunny is on one side of the river." Eames pokes the left side of Arthur's inner wrist. "The bunny needs to get to the other side of the river. How can it get across the river?"

Arthur seriously doesn't see how this relates to the job, but leave it up to Eames to create these crazy scenarios.

"It can swim across," Arthur replies.

"It'll drown, though."

"He can go around."

"It can be months until he reaches the mouth of the river, and to go back to the same area he was in**—** it could take months!"

Arthur presses his lips firmly together, thinking. "He can cross a bridge."

"What if there isn't a bridge?"

Eames is really making this difficult.

"He can find something to float on."

"Now, do you think bunnies are that intellectual?"

"How else, then?"

"I don't know. I just wanted to hold your hand."

Arthur blinks, then jerks his hand away with a frown tainting his lips. "Get back to work, Mr. Eames."

Eames smiles and actually does what he is told.

Arthur, in return, is left with a tingling hand and frustration. But as the moment wears off, Arthur resumes his work.

Promptly at seven, they manage to sneak into the mark's house and put her under to complete the job. The job goes well, since Dom and Eames wake up with a nod telling Arthur that they have the information. After making their quick getaway, they end back at the warehouse.

As they pack, Eames returns to his original, annoying self. "I don't mean to impress you, but ... I'm Batman."

Arthur gives Eames a pointed look. "Spiderman can kick Batman's ass."

That starts a bickering war that lasts five minutes before Arthur gives in and ignores Eames.

Like always, that doesn't work.

"You don't have a boyfriend, right?"

Arthur glances up and narrows his eyes a bit. "That is an absurd question. I do not**—**"

"Good, I would hate to steal you away. Since I'm a professional, he would be greatly outmatched."

_Just keep ignoring him_.

"If I followed you home, would you keep me?"

He is not going answer. He is not going to**—**

"You are old enough to take care of yourself."

"Can we at least share a cab?"

"No."

After giving the brisk reply, Arthur slings his laptop over his shoulder and makes his way out.

Eames' doesn't follow him, but moments later, he feels a buzz in his pocket, telling him that he has received a text.

_'I need directions to your heart.'_

Arthur pretends that the message from Eames didn't make him smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes;;<strong> Thank you all for the lovely reviews annnd _azure feathers_ for reading over this and helping me out with some grammar bits! (You guys should totally check out her story _Tiger Lily_, by the way. = u=)


	6. Chapter 6

When Eames sees Arthur and doesn't see Dom, he automatically assumes that something horrible happened to him. It's a possibility that Dom had followed in Mal's footsteps and committed suicide, but Eames highly doubts that; unlike most people who had lost their spouse, Dom wasn't in hysterics after Eames asked where Mal was. In fact, he took it rather well— better than Arthur, if Eames wants to go that far. Dom must be taking a break or working somewhere else. Those are the only logical explanations Eames could think of at the moment.

And sure enough, he's _somewhat_ right.

"He's blaming himself." Arthur must have caught him glancing around for Dom, since he informed him of Dom's whereabouts without Eames even asking.

After a bit, the forger's gaze returns to the point man. Arthur seems relaxed, which is much better than he appeared last time they spoke.

And even though Eames doesn't want Arthur to get worked up again, he accidentally allows the question he has been pondering on to slip. "Why did she kill herself?" He knows quite well that he shouldn't have asked, considering that Mal is still a touchy subject (even after a year), but he can't help it. Fortunately, Arthur keeps his cool this time.

"If there's a reason, Dom never told me." Although he appears fine and dandy, it's crystal clear to Eames that Mal's death is still affecting Arthur, otherwise he would be doing something other than sitting back in the office, fondling a red die.

"Mm," Eames hums in reply as he proceeds to walk over to Arthur's desk. He decides that that's enough questions for now. Oceanic eyes observe the organized desk before taking notice of a packet of papers. "I'm assuming that I have to read this?" he murmurs, picking up the papers and flipping through it. Unlike the other ones, this packet contains no more than five sheets of paper.

"It's not necessary," Arthur replies.

Eames ignores the comment for a moment as he skims the mark profile for a bit before turning back to the first page. His gaze settles back on the point man. "It's bit necessary?" he echoes, making sure he heard correctly.

"The person who you will be forging acts in a familiar manner as you. Just make sure that you are knowledgeable of how she appears."

Eames grunts in response and returns the packet to the desk. "Where are the others?" he questions while taking another look around the empty warehouse.

"They're on their way."

Which means that he's alone with Arthur.

How convenient.

Feeling somewhat mischievous, Eames turns back to Arthur with a charming smile plastered on his mouth. "So," he starts nonchalantly, "you still owe me a drink."

After the words slipped from his mouth, he acknowledges Arthur's immediate frown. "You said that the cappuccino was for me."

"Oh, and it was," Eames drawls, "but you made me drop my drink when I first saw you."

Arthur does not look convinced. "You didn't have a drink the first day we met." From the sounds of it, Eames is sure that Arthur is turning this into a little game. But unfortunately for Arthur, Eames is remarkably good at games. He always wins. _Always_.

"Exactly," the Englishman replies in a slight purr, "because I dropped it." _So there_.

Although he expects Arthur to roll his eyes and admit defeat, Arthur doesn't seem fazed by his response. "I saw you first."

It's obvious that he isn't letting this go. Eames wants to say "it's just a bloody pick up line, good God," but decides to go with "so you were watching me." He waggles an eyebrow at the other for effect, and in return, Arthur shoots him a pointed look. He doesn't come back with anything, though, so Eames knows that he has won this round.

Feeling more confident than before, the forger leans over the small desk and continues their "conversation" with another pick up line. "What has 142 teeth and holds back to incredible hulk?" This is one of Eames' personal favorites; he has been successful every time he used it mainly because it's believable (not saying that it's _not_ true, though).

But of course, Arthur is a different story again by answering "my zipper".

Eames isn't entirely sure what he's more surprised about: Arthur knowing the pick up line or the fact that Arthur implied that he has an "incredible hulk". Even though Eames is bewildered, he plays off his shock with a light chuckle.

"_My_ zipper, darling," he retaliates smugly.

Arthur, this time, doesn't bother trying to win; instead, he changes the topic entirely. "I take it back. It'll benefit us both if you start reading the packet of information."

_Haha, no_.

"Taking your words back, hm?"

Arthur's gaze slips from him to the laptop screen. "I changed my mind."

"So you did," Eames murmurs, "but I rather not. I prefer chatting to a beauty, such as yourself. By the way, did I mention that you look gorgeous in that suit of yours today?"

He flashes a grin in hopes that Arthur accepts the compliment and doesn't change the subject, but _of course_ he does. "Do you mind doing me a favor?" Arthur questions, leaning forward a bit and giving the Englishman a look that positively says, "I dare you to refuse me."

"Well," Eames drawls out slowly, wanting to suspend the moment, "that depends on the favor, no?" He props himself against the desk and bats his eyelashes. "But anything for you, Arthur. What's your request?" One day, being this nice will bite him back.

Arthur doesn't reply immediately; instead, he digs around the drawers of his desk for a while before fishing out a twenty dollar bill. "Cappuccino, preferably from Starbucks. Keep the change for your troubles."

Eames takes the crisp twenty dollar bill and examines it with mild interest. He's a bit reluctant to leave Arthur here alone, but what good would that do for _him_ if he refuses a favor? That would make him unreliable, and he's sure that Arthur would want someone dependable. Eames doesn't mind going out and fetching things for the other as long as it's not constant. After all, he's a human being with rights, not a slave.

"Anything else?"

"Nothing else," Arthur replies with a smile.

Eames tucks the bill into his back pocket and pushes himself off the desk. "Alright," he agrees cheerfully. "I should be back in five minutes. Don't miss me too much." After casting a small smirk in the point man's direction, Eames hastily makes his way out of the warehouse.

Surprisingly, Starbucks is hard to find. After wandering around helplessly, he finally stops and asks a random passerby where the coffee shop is located. Turns out, Starbucks is on the other side of the city. He isn't sure if Arthur knows about this or not, but he's putting bets that he does, since it's been five minutes and the point man hasn't bothered to call to check if Eames is okay or not. Nevertheless, Eames manages to get a hold of the cappuccino and ends up spending the remainder of the twenty on a taxi ride back.

As Eames steps back into the warehouse, he slams the cup of coffee down on Arthur's desk, flaunting the fact that he's frustrated. "I apologize for it being _cold_," he starts, thoroughly ticked, "but you didn't tell me that Starbucks was across the city."

In response, Arthur takes the cappuccino with an amused expression plastered on his pretty little face. Clearly— _clearly_— he knew about this. "You didn't ask," he then replies in a taunting manner.

Eames restrains himself from rolling his eyes.

Sometimes Arthur can be a real bastard. Then again, what was he expecting?

"You still could have told me after I said that I would be back in five minutes."

Arthur doesn't seem fazed by Eames' fury. Instead, he takes the pleasure in sipping his drink before answering in a placid manner. "You're Batman, no? I'm sure the Batmobile would have gotten you there in a minute flat."

Eames opens his mouth to retort something, but when he can't think of anything, he clamps his mouth shut.

Alright. So Arthur wins this time, which is completely unacceptable. He'll get him back ... somehow.

For now, he has to deal with Arthur's attempt to flirt with him (or at least, Eames thinks that it's Arthur's way of flirting).

"Is there something you want?" the man asks innocently in between his occasional coffee sipping.

Eames _knows_ that Arthur is aware of what he wants. And don't get him wrong, he's not afraid to admit it, but this time, he takes another approach. "I want many things, Arthur." He places both palms on the desk and leans toward the other.

Arthur peers at him with amusement dancing in his eyes. "Is that so?" The point man examines him for a moment. "I have a few wants as well." There's a slight tone of playfulness in Arthur's words, making Eames suspicious.

"And what do you want?" he asks cautiously.

"For you to leave me alone." _Well_, that's expected. Arthur really needs a lesson in proper flirting.

_Okay, then_. It's time to take _another_ approach.

Eames draws back from leaning on the desk and draws out a nickel. After palming it a couple of times, he raises it up between his fingers. "If I received a nickel for every time I saw someone as beautiful as you, I would have five cents." He places the coin down, but Arthur doesn't reach for it.

Rather, he merely snorts. "Clearly, you haven't been shown the internet."

"Honestly," Eames presses, but his attempt to work that little fact into the man's head is unsuccessful, since the sound of the warehouse door opening draws Arthur's attention away from him.

"Nash," Arthur greets, standing up.

Eames glances over and takes in the sight of a dark haired male. The man appears a bit jittery in the loose t-shirt and jeans he's in. The outfit is anything _but_ professional, making him wonder why Arthur even agreed to work with him.

"You're late," Arthur continues.

_Plus_ he's late— and that says a lot, because Eames is usually the one late. Eames can't help but smile at that.

"My bad," Nash says hastily. "Got stuck in traffic." That's always Eames' excuse. _Thief_.

As the new arrival takes his place next to him, Eames extends his hand with a soft smile. He figures that, even though this guy gives off a bad vibe, it's best to introduce himself. After all, they are co-workers. "I'm Eames."

Nash's eyes flicker over him for a moment before darting away. "What do I need to do?"

The forger's smile falters along with his hand when he realizes that Nash is ignoring him. It's no wonder Arthur accepted him into the team. Feeling a bit ridiculous, Eames lowers his hand to his side and waits until Arthur's not occupied.

A few moments later, after confirming that Nash is out of hearing range, Eames decides to put in his two cents. "Are you sure he's suited for this job?" he grumbles while rearranging the papers on Arthur's desk. "I'm not sure if you realize it, darling, but he seems nervous— not that we're not intimidating, but he—"

"He's our temporary architect," Arthur cuts in, batting Eames' hand away, "and don't touch my reports."

Eames pulls his hand back and glances over his shoulder at the architect. Nash, who has been steadily watching them from across the room, drops his gaze quickly. Eames peers back at Arthur. He wants to comment on how ridiculously out of place Nash is but decides against it the moment before he can. If Arthur trusts him, then it should be fine. Besides, this job isn't hard.

Waving the thought off, Eames straightens up and flashes his charming grin at Arthur once more. "Do you mind emptying your pockets?" he questions. "I believe you have stolen my heart."

Arthur, like Nash, ignores him.

Fine, then. They can both be bastards. Eames can play the ignoring game too, even though he's guaranteed to lose.

It's nearly two hours later when the point man finally pays him more attention than his cappuccino. "Eames, can I ask you for a favor?" Oh, so now he decides to talk to him.

Eames peers up from the crossword puzzle he's been working on and sees Arthur hovering him. "Depends," he responds carefully. "What do you need a favor for?" He smiles to cover up the fact that he is staring at the other. Luckily, Arthur doesn't seem bothered by the staring or the smile.

He quickly stuffs the twenties into Eames' hands. "Nash is creating the visual of the dream's layout. I don't trust him— or you, for that matter— alone with my belongings," Arthur explains.

"So, what do you want me to do with this?" Eames asks, waving the two twenties as an indication.

"Buy lunch for all of us. We'll probably be here for a couple more hours."

"Your concern is touching," the Englishman tuts, rising to his feet. "What do you want?"

"Anything as long as it's not fried." Typical Arthur.

"I'll have a burrito," Nash pitches in from a few distances away.

Eames doesn't like the fact that the other is listening in, and for the first time, Arthur seems to agree with him.

"Asshole," Arthur murmurs before peering at Eames once more. "There are a couple of restaurants to the right. While you're at it, get me another cup of coffee. Starbucks should be two blocks over on the left."

Eames stares dumbfoundedly at Arthur. There's a Starbucks nearby— _what_?

"You didn't tell me that there was a Starbucks near here."

Arthur turns away from him with a smile. "You never asked."

_Jerk_.

"You best be hoping that I don't piss in your cup of coffee," he grumbles.

When Arthur doesn't bother acknowledging his words, Eames turns and makes his way out of the warehouse.

Within twenty minutes, he successfully buys lunch and Arthur's coffee (Starbucks _is_ actually two blocks away; surprise, surprise). As he makes his way back, he crosses paths with a flower shop and can't help but stop in and take a look around. After moments of consideration, he decides to buy a single white rose.

When he's on the way back to the base, Eames is confronted with duplicating butterflies in his stomach. He isn't entirely sure why they decided to make their presence now, but he attempts to ignore them to the best of his ability. At the foot of the warehouse's door, he draws out a deep breath to calm his nerves. A couple of breaths later, he works up the courage to open the door and step inside.

Immediately upon entering, he notices a blonde female sitting on _Arthur'_s desk and holding an animated conversation with him. Usually, that doesn't bother Eames a lot, but when he realizes that Arthur happens to be _smiling_, he feels something kicking at his heart. He suddenly doesn't want to present the flower to the point man, but he's much too late to hide it since the two gaze over.

And Arthur is _still_ smiling. "Eames, this is Cheyenne, our extractor. Cheyenne, Eames, our forger." Well, Arthur seems big on introduction this time. "He was out buying lunch— did you want anything?"

Eames decides then and there that he doesn't like Arthur as Mr. Nice Guy.

"No, it's alright. I just ate." Cheyenne answers before smiling at Eames and flashing her perfect set of white teeth.

She is positively stunning. Her blonde hair are in curls, falling perfectly over her shoulders. Her lips are painted red, making them look rather ravishing. It's no wonder why Arthur is acting different.

"Who is that rose for?" she asks, nodding once at the flower in his hand.

Eames is threatened to say "not for you", but he simply plays off his reply with a smile at first. After placing the bag of food down on Arthur's desk, he brings the white rose up to eye level. "I just wanted to show this lovely rose how incredibly beautiful you are." He meets Arthur's eyes, and at that moment, the smile on the point man's face slips a little.

There's awkward silence for a second before Arthur turns to Cheyenne. "Charming, isn't he?"

Eames _knows _that Arthur is holding up a fake smile, but he can't call him out on it, because he happens to be faking a smile as well.

"Charming, indeed!" Cheyenne agrees enthusiastically, plucking the rose from Eames' possession and sniffing it. "Thank you," she hums, pushing herself from the desk and planting a kiss on Eames' cheek. "You really know how to make a girl swoon." She turns back to Arthur, leaving Eames shocked. "I should go see the layout. If you want to charm me, Arthur darling—" _Darling_? Darling is _his_ thing for Arthur, dammit! "— then you need to try a bit harder. Right now, Eames has my interests." Cheyenne winks at him before sauntering over to Nash.

Within a few seconds, Eames finally overcomes his shock and drops his fake smile. He can't believe what just happened.

She can't just run away with a rose that is meant for Arthur. Eames thought that he made it perfectly clear that it's for the certain point man.

"That rose was for you," he states, not liking how ridiculous he sounds.

Arthur sighs and peers into the bag of food, evidently ignoring the comment. "Don't ... do that," he says in a scolding manner while removing a salad from the bag.

That makes Eames frown. "Why not?" he demands, feeling jealousy twist around in his stomach.

Arthur peers up and gives him a pointed look. "It's embarrassing."

Eames stares at him in disbelief.

So it's embarrassing to receive a rose from an admirer and not embarrassing to have a flirtatious girl sit on his desk? That's bollocks.

Eames draws back from leaning forward. "Fine," he replies curtly. He hopes that Arthur would say something else, but Arthur continues eating his salad as if Eames isn't even there.

Defeated, the forger turns away and returns to his crossword puzzle.

— **ox — xo —**

Arthur is fully aware that Eames is pissed off over something that's silly to be ticked about, but he doesn't bother with it. He knows that the other would get over it sooner or later.

And sure enough, a few hours later, Eames returns to his desk and begins messing with him once more.

"You're so gorgeous that you made me forget my pick up line."

_Not this again_.

Arthur heaves a sigh and palms his forehead. He's already thoroughly embarrassed by the rose act— he was only fortunate that Cheyenne thought it was for her, else the job would have been awkward. He swears Eames is doing this on purpose.

"Can you stop?"

"Stop what?"

Arthur narrows his eyes a bit. He hates it when Eames plays clueless. "Using pick up lines— especially ones that call me 'beautiful' and 'gorgeous'. They're getting repetitive."

Eames' eyebrows shoot up; he looks positively shocked hearing this information. "Are they?" The surprised expression soon transforms, though, when Eames offers him a small smile. "I was hoping to make you smile, because ... I'm having a bad day, y'know? It always makes me feel better to see a handsome guy smile. Would you do me a favor and smile for me?"

It's not even tempting to smile.

"No."

"How about dinner, then?" Eames doesn't seem to be giving in anytime soon.

Arthur removes his hand from his forehead and leans back in his chair with a sigh. "No, thank you, Eames. Now, if you're done wasting my time, I would appreciate it if you leave me alone."

"Oh, now. Don't be like that, Arthur darling," Cheyenne cooes, walking up to them. "He can join us for dinner. Three is better than two, after all."

Arthur feels something curling at the pit of his stomach as Cheyenne's fingers ghosts down Eames' chest. His eyes narrow on the movement for a while before snapping back to Eames' face. "I don't think—" he starts a bit hesitantly, but Eames cuts him off.

"It's fine, pet. Maybe next time."

The forger casts him a small— sad? —smile and then turns away, leaving Arthur behind to feel like shit.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes;;<strong> Yes, apparently I'm a sucker for angst and getting Eames' heart broken. D8| One day, I'll write a fic with a pining, broken Arthur. I doubt that's anytime soon, though. Ffffuuuu— Anywaysss, thank you for reading and reviewing! I love you all ~ :B


	7. Chapter 7

"Inception," Dom starts in a voice that's barely above a whisper. "Now, before you bother telling me it's impossible—"

"No, it's perfectly possible," Eames cuts in. "It's just bloody difficult."

Dom appears to hesitate a bit at the sound of his answer. "It's just that ... Arthur keeps telling me it can't be done."

Eames can't help but smile gingerly at the sound of the point man's name. It's been an extensive year since he had heard of or from the other. He would have kept in contact— he longed to— but didn't bother doing so for specific reasons.

Their previous job together made it quite obvious that Arthur was embarrassed by him. Not to mention, Arthur also damaged his poor heart by agreeing to go out to dinner with Cheyenne, when he didn't even consider going out with Eames. Honestly, it never struck him that Arthur might be straight or in a relationship with anyone, but the more he thought about it, the more logical it seems. But of course, Eames defies logic.

He's _nearly_ positive that Arthur is at least a _little_ interested in him (even though he's pretending not to be). And even if that's the case, it sill wounds Eames to know that Arthur chose Cheyenne over him.

But that doesn't matter now. That's the past; this is the present.

"Mm, Arthur," Eames hums, allowing the name to roll off his tongue in a delicate manner. "You're still working with that stick in the mud?"

"He's good at what he does, right?" Dom inquires.

The smile on the forger's lips strengthens insignificantly. "Oh, he's the best," Eames agrees, "but he has no imagination."

Dom returns the smile. "Not like you."

After agreeing to the job with Arthur in the corner of his mind, Eames finds himself in Paris. As he enters the warehouse, his eyes insantly finds the point man, who is currently providing instructions to a petite brunette.

Arthur doesn't appear any different than he did a year ago; his dark brown hair is slicked back out of his eyes, matching perfectly with the simple button up and tie outfit. The fact that Arthur hadn't changed doesn't astound him. What does, however, is Arthur peering up and greeting him.

"Mr. Eames." There's a tiny smile shadowing at the corners of the other's lips, making his heart pound wildly.

He finds it humorous how, even after five years, Arthur can still send his heart racing. Then again, it's shocking that Arthur can maintain his attractive young features at what— twenty-nine years old now?

Eames, on the other hand, is pretty sure that he appears different than last time Arthur saw him. For instance, his hair had grown out to the point where he can part and gel it. His wardrobe also changed; he actually arrived in a three piece suit, which originally didn't mean to please Arthur, but he can tell that the other is clearly impressed. Along with his appearance altering, his flirtatious personality also took a wild turn to sarcasm avenue, but only because he's not the happiest camper around.

Shoving away the thought that this man chose Cheyenne over him and squashing down the flutters in his stomach, Eames forces a small smile.

"Arthur, lovely to see you again."

After that, Eames continues to impress the point man without even trying, but unfortunately, it's not enough to snag Arthur's complete attention. Instead, he is secretly having to battle Ariadne, their recruit architect, for the attention. Even though Eames has his reasons to hate the girl, he can't find the heart to. Unlike Cheyenne, she isn't coming onto Arthur— instead, it seems to be the other way around with Arthur taking an interest in _her_.

It's like Arthur doesn't even acknowledge him half the time, and he hasn't even used a pick up line yet. He's actually trying to give the other a reason to like him, but of course, it doesn't work out.

Eventually, this leads to him being rather sarcastic and snappy, which he flaunts well while they are in the process of performing Inception. A few minutes after blaming Dom for not telling them that they have a chance to land in limbo, he catches sight of Arthur firing at a projection with a FN SCAR-L, and he can't help but trot over with his Milker MGL.

"You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling." As far as pick up lines and puns go, that is, by far, his worst, but he doesn't bother to linger around to see Arthur's reaction to it. They have a job to complete, after all.

Only, the job and his communication with Arthur doesn't get any better as they go down another level. It actually gets worse.

In the hotel level, Eames, who is currently forging Cheyenne and on his way to find Saito, catches sight of Arthur and Ariadne leaning toward each other. He wills himself to look away, but he captures their interaction out of the corners of his (currently her) eyes. It's a quick kiss, but the sight of it makes him feel sick in his stomach.

He's only fortunate to find Saito in an elevator in time, since his forgery is dropping quickly due to his lack of concentration. He plays it off with a smile, though, giving Saito the idea that he actually meant to drop the forge.

After that little scene, the rest of the job becomes harder on him, considering it's difficult to focus, especially with Ariadne around. Fortunately, he manages, and the job ends successfully.

At the airport, he waits to the side with a luggage cart, acting as if he's waiting for more bags, but in reality, he's watching Arthur and Ariadne closely. At first, they don't interact, and Eames begins feeling a bit better, but _then_ he catches the small smile they send each other before turning away and acting like they don't have anything to do with one another. Even though it's a small smile, it still makes Eames insanely jealous.

And, adding onto that, Arthur, after that little interaction, turns around and looks right past him without acknowledgement or a smile.

_Fine_.

If that's the game he wants to play, then Eames might as well play it too.

There's no point in chasing someone who doesn't want to be chased— but that's the question: does Arthur want to be chased? Though there are a couple of moments that Arthur seemed to take interest in him, there are more moments in which Arthur gave him looks of disapproval. Eames hates the mixed signals the other's giving him, and yet, he can't find the heart to let the man go until it's a proven fact that Arthur isn't interested.

But for now, he has to assume.

His eyes trail behind the particular point man as he walks away without bothering to look back.

_Yes_, Eames' mind dutifully supplies, _he does want to be chased, else he wouldn't have ignored you_.

Mustering up his courage, Eames picks up his bag from the cart and ushers after the younger man.

— **ox — xo —**

There are many things that Arthur notices about Eames that is different. He's realizes that the forger had grown out his hair, gotten a better wardrobe (_somewhat_, but he's impressed with the suit that Eames showed up in), and is now snarkier than ever. Although Eames' comebacks and replies are a bit more intelligent than the previous years', Arthur can't say that he likes this Eames better. It's humorous to admit, but he actually misses the cheerful, more relaxed, and pick up lines using Eames.

At the same time, though, he's glad that Eames wasn't messing around, else they would have all ended up in limbo, and that's not something he wanted. They were extremely lucky to make it out alive and sane. That was thanks to the entire team for keeping their heads in the game (even though _he_ didn't realize quick enough that they have a change to land in limbo).

Still, he was confonted by zero gravity, and that was actually the most fun he had in years. It's a shame no one else saw him in that rotating hallway, save Saito, but he's sure that the tourist didn't catch much of it. Now, if Eames— Arthur doesn't know why he thought of the Englishman, but say for instance, _Eames_— caught him in that zero gravity fight, then he would have been surely impressed, and would say something along the lines of—

"Excellent work, Arthur." Eames' warm voice sends chills down his spine, which _wouldn't_ have happened if Eames had ignored him.

They're supposed to act as if they don't have anything to do with each other (since it's not worth the risk to have all six of them hunted down). Though, Arthur is guilty of breaking the rule as well by giving a "good job" smile to Ariadne (since she was new to dreamsharing, but caught on quickly enough to perform Inception). Compared to that, Eames greeting him is much worse, since it's actually _communicating_.

"What are you doing?" Arthur hisses to him under his breath.

"Congratulating you," the Englishman replies without missing a beat.

Arthur stiffens as he feels a hand ghost down his back in a caressing manner.

"We're not supposed to communicate with each other," he grits out.

The hand moves to his arm, but Arthur doesn't jerk away. A scene is the last thing he needs. Eames, on the other hand, seems to want people to stare, since the hand tightens on Arthur's arm, making it look as he's intent on dragging Arthur somewhere.

"I know I don't have a chance, but I just wanted to hear an angel talk."

Arthur _should have _expected a pick up line to be sent his way, but it would have been better if Eames spoke to him _before_. They're at the airport now, and if Robert Fischer Jr. catches them ... then it won't be good news.

Arthur manages to steal his arm away to flag over a taxi.

"You should go," he tells the other.

"When I'm older," Eames continues, ignoring his words, "I'll look back at all my crowning memories and remember the day I got married, the day I proposed, and the day I met you."

Even with his racing heart, Arthur gives him an irritated look. "You have horrible timing," he informs before opening the door to the taxi.

As he prepares to get in, Eames grabs his arm once more and looks at him in the eye without an ounce of playfulness in his hues.

"I never had a dream come true until I met you."

Arthur responds to that by just jerking his arm away and getting into the taxi.

If Eames really wants to talk to him, then he might as well call; he's not getting caught with the other, especially after performing a task that's strictly illegal.

QQQQQQQ

**Notes;;** I would have used more pick up lines, but it was set during Inception time ... so I crammed all of them in the end. TROLOL— /shot. Anyways. I'm reading the Inception script ... and I realized that this fic does _not_ go along with the original story line, because it's missing some parts— like, Dom was originally an architect and Eames is actually in his forties (his _forties_— asjkhkasjkdas). And I currently have this idea of the Cobol Engineering group / military having this school for young adults who are interested in the field of dream sharing. Arthur would be the new recruit with Dom, and Eames is the captain of the forger/thieving group. And ksjadhjkasdas— I'm wanting to write that, but it's going to take a shit ton of time with school coming up and all ... D8;; But what do you guys think? /le casually sharing ideas with the world. I'll stop rambling now. Thank you all for your flattering reviews; they make me squeal ... srsly. :B


	8. Chapter 8

Eames has always been fascinated by watches. He finds it enthralling how each one is made and worked. Though he's no watchmaker himself, it's still love at first sight for him whenever he spots one that is excruciatingly beautiful.

For example, just two weeks back, he was milling around Time Square when he happened to cross paths with a shop that specifically sold watches. Of course, being awed by the gadgets, Eames entered and took a glimpse around. It wasn't long until his sights landed on a gorgeous silver watch. Except, when he drew near to have a closer look at it, he didn't think that the watch would look good on his wrist; instead, his mind immediately screamed "Arthur!"

And that's exactly how he managed to get a hold of Arthur's Christmas present. It cost a lot, but he's sure that it's worth it, especially since he wrapped it up nicely. Surely, Arthur would adore it.

Now, the problem is how he's going to give it to Arthur. He has no utter clue where the other is located, but fortunately, Ariadne calls him the very next day and informs him about a job that takes place a week before Christmas. It's perfect, because Eames doesn't need to go around the world in order to track the point man down.

He's disappointed, though, when he enters the chilly warehouse and sees that Arthur isn't around, which is odd, because he usually is. Arthur must be out of late, or something.

Unsure on Arthur's current location, Eames paces over to Ariadne, who is busy designing a level. For a moment, his eyes run over the layout, taking in the details. Compared to the ones she modeled last time he saw her work, these are absolutely amazing.

"I see that we've made quite an impression on you," Eames starts, brushing his finger against the mini skyscraper.

Ariadne peers up with a light smile. "There's nothing like it," comes the response.

Eames hums in reply before asking about the others.

Ariadne answers without delay. "Dom's out of the business for his kids. Arthur's at another job." Realizing that Arthur's not present, the small gift in his palm feels heavier, but he ignores it. "He should be here tomorrow, and Yusuf's out getting something." Well, at least Arthur's going to be around. That's good news.

After letting the information sit in his head for a while, Eames starts again. "So, what do I need to do?"

"Arthur should have sent you the information," Ariadne informs as she moves over to change part of the layout. "You can use my laptop, if you want." She gestures at the chair with a laptop sitting open.

Accepting the offer, Eames removes his fingers from the buildings, heads over to the lawn chair, and settles down after picking up the laptop.

Originally, he aimed to check his mail as expected of him, but when he saw Ariadne's opened IM chat with Arthur, he couldn't help but take a peek at what they conversed about. The majority of it talked about the jobs they had; the other part was nothing but casual talk. And then, Ariadne, bless her, asked Arthur about his past relationship with Eames, and he responded with "We had a couple of jobs before the inception on. Don't concern yourself with his attitude, though. He's usually more open and cheerful." It's not exactly what Eames wants to hear, but at least he knows how Arthur _somewhat_ views him. Aside from that, that was the only time he was mentioned as far as he can see.

Eames moves the cursor to click off the IM page, but before he can exit it, a small bubble at the lower right of the screen tells him that Arthur's back on. He decides not to click off the page; instead, he takes the pleasure in typing Arthur a greeting.

**eames here**

He sits back, clearly amused already, his mind flying with possibilities of what Arthur might reply with.

Seconds later, there's a soft ping sound (which Eames quickly turns off so Ariadne doesn't know that he's using her account to talk to the point man), telling him that Arthur has responded.

_Is he reading the information I send him?_

Ah, so Arthur thinks that he's Ariadne.

A gleeful smile crosses Eames' lips. This can get interesting.

**undeniably**

He minimizes the IM screen and pulls up his email to take a look. After clicking the one that reads "For the Job", he finds himself scrolling for ages to get to the end. Arthur expects him to read _this_? Not believing it, Eames brings up the IM screen again. Arthur hasn't replied, but he types something anyways.

**he's not pleased by the length of your email**

A reply comes almost automatically.

_He can suck it up. It's not much to read._

Eames snorts lightly before typing a reply.

**he called you a insufferable git**

Now, he's sure that Arthur's not doing any work on the other side of the computer, because his response is faster.

_Tell him that he's an ass._

**what's with you and him anyways**

Because Eames deserves to know, right?

_Pardon?_

**too much ust. you two should just go at it**

_UST?_

Of course Arthur doesn't know what that stands for.

**unresolved sexual tension**

_No, thank you. Please keep this strictly business._

Typical Arthur again.

**he seems to like you. he even bought you a gift**

_Did he?_

**you'll love it. why don't you give him a chance?**

_What is it?_

Eames is threatened to type something obnoxious like "some snacks and a condom", but he knows that that would just give him away.

**you'll see but seriously arthur give him a chance**

_I gave him many chances._

Did he now? Eames wasn't aware that he was given chances.

**what happened**

_He fucked it all up, like he usually does._

Oh, now that's harsh.

**he's trying is he not**

_I wouldn't call pretending to be Ariadne "trying"._

Whoops. Cover blown.

**how did you know**

_It's painfully obvious, since the typing style changed. Please stop invading privacy, Mr. Eames._

**hardly private if the screens up**

Arthur doesn't reply, but Eames _does_ hear a phone ringing seconds later. He glances up and watches Ariadne pick up her cellphone.

"Hello?" The other person says something briefly. Eames can't tell who or what he or she said, but has a hunch that it's Arthur. "Oh, okay."

After clasping the phone close, Ariadne marches over to Eames, who shrieks back a little, and steals the laptop away. "How much did you read?" she asks, scrolling through the recent messages.

Slightly entertained by Ariadne's panic, Eames leans onto the palm of his hand and smiles. "Not much, just the page."

The architect gives him a stern look, clicks a couple of things, and then hands the laptop back.

Eames immediately sees that the IM screen is gone, which is a shame, because he really wants to talk to Arthur more.

**... ~ ...**

Ariadne's a tad bit jealous— no, what is she talking about? She's more than a little jealous. She sincerely admires Eames' ambition to get into Arthur's pants, but honestly, she thinks that Arthur needs someone that doesn't irritate him.

Not saying that it should be her (she likes Arthur, yes, but she knows it's better for them to stay friends, because she's only going to get her heart broken if she falls for him), but the person needs to be someone that Arthur can _trust_. Eames has always been shifty to her, mainly because he's a forger and an actor. Not to mention, he also read her IM with Arthur— what if he lied and read past the page to the part where Arthur stated that— no, he couldn't have, because that was way back.

Shaking her head from the thoughts, Ariadne settles on examining her layout for the job.

She isn't pestered for a bit of time, since Yusuf had returned, and Eames is intent on bothering chemist. It's only that night, when she's packing up, that Eames finally drops by and asks her what Arthur thinks of him.

For a moment, Ariadne blinks at the laptop in her hands. She isn't entirely sure what to tell him; half of her wants to lie so that Eames won't pine and make Arthur's life miserable, but the other half just wants to shove them together and say "Now kiss!" But in the end, she decides on another approach. "I'm not sure. Why don't you talk to him?"

Eames laughs at her answer, making her feel ridiculous for even suggesting it. "Easier said than done, Ariadne," he responds before turning and walking off.

She watches him disappear from her sights before breathing in relief. Thank goodness Eames didn't press her, else she would have started spilling everything or spitting lies.

**... ~ ...**

Honestly, Yusuf is getting annoyed with Arthur and Eames: Arthur, since he needs to give Eames a straight answer, and Eames— well, he's becoming obnoxious with the pick up lines and gifts.

Someone seriously needs to shove them into a room together so that they can sort out their priorities, because Yusuf finds it hard to concentrate when Eames' saying "You turned my software into hardware", which in reply, gets Arthur to say "Please focus, Eames."

Around mid-day, he's right about fed up with their bickers, and from the sounds of it, Ariadne is too.

"Just ask him out already!" she urges when Arthur's out for coffee.

And Eames, get this, replies with "It's _Arthur_. He needs to be wooed."

Turns out, Eames' idea of wooing is more pick up lines and unneeded generosity.

Yusuf sighs and shakes his head.

Next time, he's not agreeing to do a job with both of them around.

**... ~ ...**

Arthur gets dinner at Subway, mainly because it's the closest restaurant that is healthy and quick. As he settles down with the intention of eating his sandwich, he can't help but notice Eames (who he's sure went with Yusuf and Ariadne to McDonald's) sitting at a table not too far from the one he chose.

Arthur sighs as he watches Eames move toward him. "Your stalking ways are getting to be creepy, Mr. Eames," he informs the other as Eames slides into a seat opposite of his own.

"I wasn't _stalking_," the Englishman stresses. "I just noticed you noticing me and I just wanted to give you a notice that I noticed you too."

Arthur stares at him for a moment with his eyebrows furrowed. Is that supposed to be a pick up line? If so, that's the worst one he heard yet.

"Is that a totem in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" And this pick up line's no better.

"You can't see my pants," the point man replies irritably, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite.

That action doesn't shoo Eames away as hoped; instead, it gives the forger permission to shift forward with a soft smirk.

"You know, if I were you, I'd have sex with me."

Arthur frowns as he chews and swallows. "I'm trying to eat."

That still doesn't stop Eames.

"The word of the day is 'legs'. Let's go back to my place and spread the word."

Arthur wipes his mouth and takes a swig of the water before replying. "Pick up lines don't work on me, neither do gifts."

Eames' eyes flicker downward. "Hm ... that's why you're wearing the watch I gave you?"

Brown eyes flicker down to his own wrist to check if Eames is messing with him. Turns out, he isn't— the watch is there, even though Arthur doesn't remember putting it on.

"Then, what works?" Eames questions, leering forward once more. "What makes your stomach flutter and your heart pound?"

Arthur wraps up the remainder of his meal without answering. He figures that Eames would find out soon enough.

"Arthur," the Englishman starts again, "I don't know if you realize this, but it's been five years, and it _does_ get tiring chasing your tail."

"Then, why don't you stop?" Arthur asks without missing a beat.

Eames smiles with ease. "Because you haven't given me a strict 'no'."

The point man narrows his eyes. "Yes, I have."

Eames continues looking smug as he sits back. "But you don't mean it."

Arthur sighs and stands up, seeing that there's no use arguing with the other.

"Honestly, darling, I believe that we're irritating everyone by not fucking already."

Arthur's expression immediately turns sour. "I don't want a fuck."

"Then, mind laying down while I do?"

Arthur sends the other a sharp look before tossing his empty drink away and bustling out of the restaurant. He can _not_ believe that he just had that conversation with Eames in a _Subway_. And he's certainly not having the conversation again, so he quickens his pace, willing Eames to be slow on his feet.

When he arrives back at the warehouse, Arthur doesn't bother greeting the other two, who are loitering around their stations; he simply seats himself down and finishes the rest of his sandwich.

Of course, his moment of bliss is ruined when Eames comes along and asks, "Do you have the time?"

Arthur briefly glances at his watch. "Six-thirty."

"No, the time to go out to dinner with me tomorrow night."

The point man's gaze turns up as he quirks an eyebrow.

"Dammit, Arthur," Eames huffs. "Will you go out with me?"

Arthur blinks, then, ever so slowly, eases into a small smile. "Sure. Why not?"

Eames' expression turns blank for a moment. "You're serious?" he sputters in disbelief.

"Of course," Arthur responds with a slight shrug. "All you had to do was ask." .

"A few jobs ago with Cheyenne—" Eames starts, but Arthur quickly cuts him off.

"You didn't directly ask me."

"But that's the— okay, alright." Eames breaks into a grin. "Tomorrow night."

* * *

><p><strong>Notes;;<strong> So the next chapter's going to be the last one. It'll be really short, though. I should have it up within a day or two. Whoot, whoot ~ :3 By the way. "The Grey Lady". Harry Potter soundtrack. _It's amazing_.


	9. Chapter 9

Eames frantically digs through his luggage, hoping that he has _something_ to wear that's appealing to Arthur's eyes. He doesn't want to screw up the first date, but all he has are bright flannels, which are anything _but_ formal. And glancing at his watch, he doesn't have enough time to run out and buy a fitting suit, so he settles with a simple dark green button up and khaki slacks. It doesn't look _too_ bad, but compared to what Arthur usually wears, it's horrible.

Eames shoves that thought out of his head. It shouldn't matter; Arthur has known him for half a decade, so, at the very least, he should be expecting Eames in anything but a three piece suit. Keeping that in mind, the young forger grabs his coat, hustles out of the hotel and makes his way toward the chosen restaurant that they had argued over last night.

After entering the dimly lit place, he immediately spies Arthur sipping a drink at a table for two, and despite the fact that this is a fancy restaurant and all, he's in a suit. He doesn't even have a tie on; instead, he's decked in a simple turtleneck and _jeans_. Feeling rather foolish, Eames decides to keep his long coat on as he seats himself across from his date.

"Didn't bother waiting, did you?" he asks as a greeting.

Arthur smiles up at him, and he immediately feels accomplished— he finally, _finally_, managed to get a date with a smiling Arthur. What more can he ask for?

"You're late," Arthur tells him but this time with a gentle smile, making Eames feel accomplished. He _finally_ managed to get a date with Arthur— not the oridinary Arthur either, but a _smiling_ Arthur. What more can he ask for?

"Radiant as usual, Arthur," he replies while picking up the menu and quickly glancing over the items. "What shall we have tonight?"

"I already ordered for us."

Eames peers up, his eyebrows quirked. "Have you been on a date before?"

Arthur blinks for a moment, confused. "Of course I have. I thought it would be convenient that, when you arrive, you wouldn't have to wait a long time for the food."

A bit flattered that Arthur did that, Eames gazes back at the menu. "And what did you order for me?"

The point man answers without missing a beat. "Steak, medium-well."

Oceanic eyes flicker up to meet the brown ones as a light smile dawns on his lips. "How did you know?"

Arthur sniffs lightly. "It's quite obvious, since all the restaurants you recommended last night were steakhouses." Were they? Eames is pretty sure that he said something about Olive Garden. Oh, well. It's not like he's complaining.

The Englishman leans back in his chair, eyes glazed with amusement. "Arthur, I am impressed."

The dimples shine as Arthur ducks his head a bit to conceal his smile. "You're easily impressed."

"Only by you."

As Arthur continues to hide his smile by taking another sip of his drink, Eames glances up and beams at the waitress as she sets their food down. "Thank you, dear."

She returns the easy smile. "Not at all. Enjoy your dinner!" When she saunters off to another table, Eames takes a look at the plate in front of him. The steak seems pretty nice and juicy.

Without another thought, he picks up his fork and knife and begins eating. After taking the second bite, Eames attention draws away from his dinner to tune in on what Arthur is rambling on about.

"—talking to her just the other day, actually—"

He can barely focus, though, since his sights happen to drift down to Arthur's mouth. He's mesmerized, his gaze holding onto the point man's lips as they move to form words. The lips aren't full as his own, but they still seem snoggable. Speaking of snogging, Eames sincerely hopes that Arthur won't push him away when and if he attempts to kiss him. Perhaps he should ask first, but honestly, who asks? Certainly not him, but to be on the safe side—

"Arthur," Eames begins, cutting the other off on whatever he was talking about. "Are you opposed to kissing?"

Arthur pauses in the middle of his word, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. The look on his face tells Eames that he is considering it, which is good— _really_ good, in fact.

"Depends," he answers at last. "Are you a good kisser?"

The young Englishman grins. "I personally think that I'm an excellent kisser, but you have to see for yourself, hm?"

Arthur laughs. It's not one of the forced laughs either; it's an actual, honest to God laugh. And if that's not the most beautiful sound Eames has heard, then he doesn't know what is.

"We'll see."

Is that a yes?

"I don't disappoint, darling," Eames replies, lifting the glass of champagne to his lips and sampling the content.

"Let's hope that you don't, Mr. Eames."

That is _definitely_ a yes, but Eames doesn't want to press the matter.

"Now," he begins, dutifully changing the subject so that Arthur doesn't have the time to consider a no, "what were you talking about?" he asks while picking up his knife and cutting the steak into bite size chunks.

"You weren't listening?" Arthur appears to be offended, so Eames quickly offers an apologetic smile before popping a piece of steak into his mouth. Arthur heaves a sigh but, nevertheless, answers, "Cheyenne." The forger pretends that the name doesn't make him jealous, because _he's_ on a date with Arthur and Cheyenne's not.

"What about dear Cheyenne?"

"She's married and pregnant."

Eames' eyebrows shoot up in clear surprise. "Is she?"

Arthur nods and takes a bite out of whatever he's having (looks like chicken, but he may be wrong). "She was engaged on the job we had with her."

Oh.

Well, now he's thoroughly embarrassed for getting worked up over nothing.

"She was wondering why you didn't respond to her wedding invitation."

Eames blinks. "I didn't get one."

"That's because you can't stay in one location." Arthur gives him a pointed look. "Honestly, Eames. You should be glad that I have your number, else you would be out of business."

A smile caresses the forger's lips once more. "You keep track of me," he states in an awing manner.

Arthur scoffs. "I keep track of—"

"Shh, Arthur. Let me dwell in happiness for a moment."

When he actually does fall quiet, Eames takes another bite of his steak before beginning once more. "You know what I did last night?" he asks after swallowing what's in his mouth.

"Do I want to know?" Arthur questions, sounding rightfully suspicious.

"I looked up at the stars and matched each one with a reason why I like you."

"You know what_ I _did last night?" Arthur shoots back, obviously ignoring what Eames said.

Eames quirks an eyebrow. "Enlighten me on what you did, dear Arthur."

"I argued with a certain man until two in the morning over which restaurant to meet at." Even though the words seem harsh, the other's smile tells him that Arthur isn't angry.

"And what a marvelous argument it was!" Eames exclaims, slamming his glass of champagne down and accidentally causing a mess. "Whoops." He reaches for a napkin, but Arthur beats him to it.

"Please be more careful, Mr. Eames," he sighs, dabbing at the mess.

Eames flashes a sheepish grin. "Sorry, got a bit excited there."

"I can see that." After cleaning the spill up, Arthur tosses the wet napkin to the side and resumes eating. This time, though, he doesn't bother looking up and starting a conversation.

Eames clears his throat, hoping to snag the other's attention, but Arthur keeps his gaze down. Not giving into the silence, he tries again. "How much does a polar bear weigh?"

"Enough to break the ice," Arthur answers almost automatically. This surprises the young Englishman, but he plays it off with a small smile.

"It depends on the polar bear, actually."

That catches the point man's attention. Arthur peers up, a light grin tinting his lips. "It's just a pick up line, Eames." He laughs, and this time, Eames joins in.

They have their chuckle, but that's about it. They both finish their meals and down the rest of their champagne before deciding it's time to go.

Eames stands and pulls out his wallet, fully intent on paying, but of course, Arthur has to make it into some sort of competition.

"I'll pay. I asked you out," Eames states, jamming the money into the waitress' hands.

"No," Arthur replies sternly, stealing Eames' money back and shoving it into his hands. "I'll pay. I ordered."

Eames sighs. "Let me pay for this, darling."

The waitress clears her throat. "You can each pay for your respective meal," she suggests, but Arthur shoots her down.

"No," he responds sharply, stuffing his money into her hands. "I'm paying."

"I insist," Eames presses, grabbing the waitress' hand to stop her from running away with Arthur's money.

"Eames, let me pay for this."

"Absolutely not."

"You can pay next time." Is Arthur implying another date? Well, Eames can work with that.

"Okay," he agrees, "next time."

He lets go of the waitress' wrist, giving her the freedom to ring them up.

As she does so, Eames shoves his hands into his coat pockets and glances over at his co-worker. "So ... are you opposed to ice cream?"

Arthur quirks an eyebrow in his direction. "Depends."

"Well," Eames stresses, "there's this ice cream place nearby ..."

The other hums a stray note before accepting the change back from the waitress who bids them a good day in an haughty manner.

"Okay, let's go for ice cream," Arthur agrees.

Eames thinks that this night can not get any better.

**... ~ ...**

Arthur is stuffed full from all the rolls, champagne, and chicken. He doesn't want ice cream; just the mere thought of eating it makes him want to puke, but it's _ice cream_. He used to pig out on cartons of it, so how can he say no? Besides, the last time he had ice cream is, if he's not mistaken, over a year ago. Not to mention, it's ice cream _with Eames_. Arthur isn't excited; surely not! Okay, so maybe he's a bit jittery, but he blames it on ice cream rather than Eames. It's never Eames; it _shouldn't_ be Eames—

"It is, isn't it?"

Arthur blinks out of his daze and peers up at the small, but brightly lit, ice cream shop. What was Eames saying? He just tuned out for a moment, but luckily, Eames doesn't look for an answer. He pulls the door open and ushers him inside. As Arthur steps in, a sweet scent— caramel, toffee or something— hits him. Whatever it is, he wants it.

"What flavor are you getting?" Eames asks as he hands a ten over to the cashier. Arthur glances down at the flavors. There are so many— and the _toppings_. He feels like an eager kid as he points to mint chocolate tub with a smile.

After receiving his two scoops of ice cream, Arthur quickly grabs a handful of napkins and a spoon. But of course, he still has _some_ class and waits for Eames to get his ice cream cone before digging in. The sweet treat melts in his mouth, making him slightly tremble with anticipation for the next spoonful.

"Good?"

Arthur nods as he scoops some of the ice cream up with the small spoon again. "How much was it?" he asks, putting the spoonful into his mouth and reaching for his wallet. Eames' hand immediately flies to his wrist, stopping him.

"You paid for the dinner. I'm paying for dessert." Eames gives him a look that dares him to object, and for a moment, Arthur does, but the other cuts him off. "Shush, darling. Just enjoy your ice cream."

Arthur, reluctant as he is, finds himself silent and eating the ice cream moments later. He's nearly done with the first scoop when Eames makes a comment.

"Arthur ... seriously?" The point man pulls out the spoon from between his lips and raises an eyebrow in Eames' direction. Eames, in return, gestures at Arthur's ice cream cone with his free hand. "Not big on licking, are you?"

"Does it matter?" Arthur questions.

"Well, you're eating ice cream from a cone."

"And?"

Eames' eyes rake his face for a moment before glancing away and chuckling. "Never mind."

"Good." Seeing that Eames isn't going to make another comment, Arthur seats himself down at a small table and continues enjoying his ice cream.

After a couple of moments in silence, he plucks up the courage to talk. "So ... orange sherbet."

"A very tasty flavor— want to sample?" Eames offers his cone, but Arthur shakes his head.

"I never liked orange," he admits.

"What a coincidence!" the Englishman exclaims. "I'm not too fond of mint chocolate."

"Well," Arthur drawls, "that's another thing we differ on."

An amused smile crosses the Englishman's lips. "Opposites attract, don't they?"

"In the worst possible ways, yes."

Two scoops later, Arthur attempts to start another conversation. "Why forging?"

He peers up and catches sight of the other mid-lick. Eames appears to be deep in thought as he considers his answer, which makes Arthur pause as well.

It's nearly a minute later when he finally replies. "How a person's mind works and their relationship intrigues me. Pretending to be them is only a plus." Arthur nods a bit before taking another spoonful of his treat. "What about you? I imagine research is a boring task."

"It's not only research," he replies, eyebrows furrowed. "As a point man, I have to know every aspect of dreamsharing, but I suppose it's the thrill that keeps me interested."

"Ah," Eames responds, "the thrill of being a criminal."

A small, barely noticeable smile appears in his lips. "Yes."

Hearing this, the Englishman laughs. "And here I thought you lacked the ability to have fun."

"Mr. Eames," Arthur begins, leaning over a bit. "I can assure you that I do have fun, despite how I am at work. I'm only doing my job."

Eames sniffs. "So, asshole at work and fun after wards? I find that hard to believe by the way you've been treating me."

Arthur bites into the cone before answering. "It's just you."

"Oh, I'm honored."

"It's— well, you're annoying as hell most of the time, especially with your pick up lines. If you're like how you are now, then I wouldn't have to be an ass. Don't get me wrong. I'm quite fond of you and—"

"Arthur! I think I'm about to have a heart attack!" Arthur's gaze immediately snaps up from his ice cream. For a moment, his heart stops, but after seeing that Eames is joking, he frowns. "That's the nicest thing you've said to me!"

"Don't do that again," he grumbles, digging into his ice cream cone and scooping the remainder out.

"Sorry, sorry. But you do realize that I'm extremely happy to hear that, right?"

"Yes," Arthur sighs, putting his spoon down and taking another bite out of his cone.

"Quickly, what day is it?"

"The eighteenth, I believe."

"Okay. December 18th at eight thirty-four— the time Arthur confessed his undying love for me." Though he's supposed to be annoyed, the young point man can't help but allow a soft smile to cross his lips.

"I said _fond_, Mr. Eames."

"It's the first step," the forger responds, finishing his cone with glee.

Arthur shakes his head and stuffs the remainder of the cone into his mouth. After swallowing, he wipes his mouth on a napkin. When he lowers it, he finds Eames peering his way ... with a bit of ice cream stuck at the corner of his mouth.

"What?" he asks innocently. "Do I have something on my face?" Arthur just _knows_ that Eames is aware that there's something on his face, but nevertheless, he folds his napkin in half and leans over to wipe the mess off. He tries not to stare at the lips as he does this, but it's nearly impossible when they look so damn kissable. Swatting away this idea, his gaze switches to the oceanic eyes, but that doesn't help him either— they are absolutely gorgeous compared to his chocolate brown ones, but now's not the time to dwell on that.

Arthur pulls away and stands up hastily. "Ready?" Eames nods and gets to his feet. After tossing the napkins away, Arthur makes his way out of the small ice cream shop.

The night air is crisp— perfect for a walk. And honestly, he doesn't want the date to end quite yet. He actually enjoys Eames' company; it will be a shame if they depart here.

Arthur gazes over at Eames in a hesitant manner, pondering if he should ask him to walk with him somewhere or not. After all, the other is standing around idly, as if waiting for a command.

Deciding that he wants to take the chance, Arthur clears his throat to get Eames' attention, and when he has it, he extends a hand in his direction with a gentle smile. "Mind holding this while I go for a walk?" He did his research on pick up lines, and he doesn't regret it when Eames returns his soft smile before lacing their fingers together.

Arthur can't lie— his heart is racing at the moment, and his cheeks are tinted a slight pink, but Eames soothes him before massaging the back of his hand with his thumb.

And so they walk.

It's a quiet walk, but Arthur doesn't mind; he's too fixed on trying to calm down his thundering heart.

Moments later, he finds himself having a squeezing contest with Eames, but that all stops when they arrive at Arthur's hotel. He hastily removes his hand from the other's grasp and peers up at him. "Thanks for dinner and ice cream. I had a nice time."

Eames nods once. "Not at all, Arthur. Perhaps we can do this again?"

The point man smiles. "Of course. Good night, Eames."

"G'night, darling."

Arthur moves away, but before he can enter the hotel, Eames calls out to him, stopping him in his tracks. Arthur then turns back without a second thought.

"What are you in dire need of, Mr. Eames?"

"Well," the Englishman drawls as he closes in, "I'm writing a new kissing program and I'm wondering if you would like to join the beta-testing?" And he _pouts_. How can Arthur say no to that?

"Eames, you are one insufferable bastard," he murmurs, stepping closer and leaning in to seal their lips together. He _knows_ he shouldn't have done that, but it's too late to turn back now.

The kiss is a slow and gentle one. Eames' plush lips dance along with his own, not hesitant, but rather, _striking_. When tilting his head in a different direction, Eames presses forward, as if telling Arthur that he's not pulling away— that he's _never_ going to pull away. He also nibbles on Arthur's lower lip before periodically grazing it with his tongue.

Feeling the temperature rise dramatically in his cheeks, Arthur pulls away and sucks in air. Eames, on the other hand, breathes lightly against his lips, but appears to be equally out of breath.

"I should go," Arthur murmurs at last.

Eames pecks his mouth once more before letting out a soft sigh. "Alright ... alright. Good night."

"Good night."

Arthur pulls away and quickly ushers into the hotel while trying to tone down the flush on his cheeks. It goes away easily, but what continues to linger on his face is a smile.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes;;<strong> Okay, so I lied. This was supposed to be a short and the last chapter, but alas! it is not. I extended this one so I can write chapter ten, which _will_ be the last chapter. So bear with me ~ c;


	10. Chapter 10

"Thank you," Eames says with a slight nod and a gentle smile tinting his lips.

"Not at all. Good luck with your proposal," the jeweler responds, handing him the small bag that has the chosen engagement ring and the ring box that comes with it inside.

The Englishman chuckles. "I'm sure I'll need it. Cheers, mate." After giving the elder man a two finger salute, Eames turns and makes his way out of the shop.

As he briskly walks back to his car, he feels a prickling sensation and immediately thinks that everyone around is watching him, knowing exactly what he plans to do. He ignores it, but once he's safely tucked in his vehicle, he pulls out the ring box with the ring inside of it and shoves it into his pockets before hiding the bag under a pile of unorganized CDs. He'll need to throw that away later, but for now, he has to get back home before Arthur gets impatient.

It's been at least three years since their first date, and what a glorious three years it was! In the first two years, he was still running around, high on life. The third year, though, he finally decided that it was time to settle down a bit, and by settling down, he meant moving in with Arthur, who had "retired" (since Dom wasn't in the business anymore), and messing his house up.

Arthur didn't seem to mind (although Eames was yelled and threatened at gunpoint a couple of times). Other than that, he was free to walk around half naked and crawl into Arthur's bed using the "I still haven't found my teddy" excuse.

Living together drastically changed Eames' views of the ex-point man. Before, he saw the other as a stick in the mud, salad eating, animal hating man. Now, he can very well say that Arthur is a child at heart. Not to mention, his liking toward Arthur turned into love, which is definitely something, because Eames previously had no intentions of _falling_ for him; honestly, back three years ago, his entire goal was to get a date with Arthur. At this moment, confronted by his feelings, his aim is for Arthur to say "yes".

The thing about proposing, though, is that Eames wants to make it not only memorable, but special as well. He thought about taking Arthur out to dinner and then getting on one knee after wards, but that way of proposing is completely overused and lacks creativity. He wants to do something spectacular, something unordinary, and the problem with _that_ is that Arthur will probably be embarrassed and run away.

It took Eames a lot of thinking, but yesterday night, it came to him: he's going to _give_ the idea to Arthur.

He's excited about this, but at the same time, he's nervous. Although he's nearly positive that Arthur will say "yes", a little part of him comes up with reasons why he would say "no". That's why, when he pulls into the driveway of their house, he turns off the engine and just sits there and thinks.

His mind buzzes with what to say, but more importantly, where to hide the ring. He knows that Arthur is a particularly good finder, especially when he's on his cleaning spree, which is once a week on Saturday (Eames knows this, because Saturdays are usually the days he wakes up hearing the vacuum). There's absolutely no place where he can hide something without it being found, and that's a proven fact (a couple of months ago, he bought a tie for Arthur's birthday and hid it underneath the mattress; _well_, after their intense, ahem, _session_ that moved the mattress a bit, Arthur decided to push the it back into place, and _eureka!_ found the tie).

Eames thinks a sock will be sufficient, though, but what if Arthur suddenly decides to empty his sock drawer and wash all of them again, even when they _are_ clean?

Or, he can hide it in the car, but Arthur sometimes uses this car as well, and he tends to snoop for reasons that Eames finds completely unnecessary ("I was looking for your candy stash, and by candy, I mean condoms").

It's not like Arthur suspects him of cheating, because Eames knows that if he does (which he won't), Arthur will have his head, and not in the good way either. Arthur's just simply a motherfucker who collects all the condoms in _Eames'_ car, so that they're not tempted to do anything to ruin the nice leather smell.

So a sock it is.

Somewhat content with this, Eames pushes the car door open and steps out into the breezy fall day. After taking one look at the house, he notes that the lights are on in their bedroom but not anywhere else, meaning Arthur's in that room. Fishing out his keys, the Englishman proceeds toward the door and unlocks it.

"I'm home!" he calls out as he closes and secures the door behind him.

Instead of hearing an "I'm upstairs!" from Arthur like he expects, he gets brutally shoved against the door. "Where have you been?" his partner hisses, and it doesn't take light to see that Arthur is practically seething.

"Out," Eames answers immediately, bringing his hand up to wrap around the hand fisting his shirt. "I called you and told you that I'm going to be an hour late."

"You're an hour and _twelve minutes_ late."

Hearing this, the ex-forger laughs. Arthur, apparently, likes to fake being pissed off, which is a good and a bad thing; it's good because he's actually _not_ angry at Eames, and bad because sometimes Eames thinks that it's real and resorts to apologizing.

"Don't scare me like that, darling," he murmurs, leaning over and kissing Arthur's nose before drawing away to flip on the lights. As he takes in the sight of his mate, a small smile curls up on his lips. "Hello," Eames greets again while pressing himself against Arthur's robed body. "Miss me?"

Arthur, in return, sighs and proceeds to loosen up Eames' tie. "Of course, but dinner's missing you more. You left it cold for twelve minutes." After removing the tie from around Eames' neck, Arthur leans in and pecks his lips. "Go take a shower."

"Take it with me?" Eames asks nonchalantly as he takes his shoes off and makes his way up the stairs.

"You missed me by thirty minutes. Now, go. I'll warm up your food _again_, and oh, when you're done up there, turn off the lights."

"Alright, alright." Shaking his head and laughing a bit, Eames continues up the stairs, thoroughly pleased that Arthur didn't notice the bulge in his right pocket.

The moment he steps into the bedroom, his walk turns into a slight run as he ushers toward his sock drawer, tugs it open, and grabs a random sock. After stuffing the ring box in and throwing a couple of other socks on top of it, he closes the drawer and moves over to their shared closet.

It's only in the shower does he realize that Arthur might open his sock drawer, see that none of his socks are matched up, and start pairing them together. If that's the case, then it's just Eames' luck. He just ... has to keep it on him during the day.

Stepping out fully clothed and clean, the ex-forger makes his way down the stairs to the kitchen table where Arthur is currently sitting at and reading a book.

"Rereading that?" Eames asks, pulling out a chair and seating himself next to his partner. "You've been on that book for a week now."

Arthur, without taking his eyes off the page, pushes Eames' dinner toward him. "It has 784 pages, and I've been busy this past week."

"Of course you have," Eames responds nonchalantly as he sticks a piece of chicken into his mouth and chews thoughtfully. "Retiring means to leave the job." He pats the back of Arthur's hand before curling his fingers around his thumb.

"I'm not hired by Cobol anymore."

"And yet, you still do research for dreamsharing jobs."

"Ariadne needs the very best point man, and _I am_ the very best."

Eames shoves another piece of chicken into his mouth so that he doesn't need to respond. He doesn't like it when Arthur gets defensive, because that usually leads to him getting ticked. And as he examined before, a pissed Arthur isn't lovely.

"How about we take a break? There's this carnival over in the next town that opens tomorrow."

Arthur sighs and places a bookmark between the pages he's reading. "A carnival," he repeats, peering at Eames in the eye. "You're not joking."

The Englishman smiles, and that's all he has to do for Arthur to look off irritably and mumble "fine".

Eames goes to bed with his thoughts jumbled that night. He's going to propose tomorrow— or, well, he's going to give the idea to Arthur tomorrow, and then hopefully propose.

The next morning, he gets up jittery. His steps have a light bounce to them as he ushers to get ready, and of course, this doesn't go unnoticed by Arthur.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asks, gazing at him with his eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly.

Eames flashes a grin. "Yes, of course. Just a tad excited for the carnival. Haven't been to one since I was a child, actually." He slips on a shirt before heading over to the drawer to grab his wallet. "We're going to have a wonderful time today."

"I can imagine," the ex-point man mumbles. "I'll prepare lunch. Hurry down." After giving the instructions, Arthur heads out of the bedroom. A couple of seconds later, Eames hears footsteps bounding down the stairs.

He lets out a slow breath. _Good_. So far, he has escaped suspicion. With another deep exhale, he calms himself and crouches down to pull open his sock drawer. It doesn't take him long to dig through the mess to find and fish out the ring box. The mere sight of it sends his heart beating quicker— in just a few hours, he's going to present it to the other, but _only if_ Arthur gets the hint; Arthur's a smart fellow, so he should, but there's still no guarantee.

They're in the car and on the road by two. Everything is fine and dandy until Arthur takes special notice of the CDs in center console tray between their seats.

"Eames, you need to organize these CDs. They're going to end up broken and—" Out of the corner of his eye, Eames can see Arthur leaning over to arrange it, and he immediately thinks '_oh, shit_'. He wants to smack himself for not tossing the bag away while he was around the shopping center— why hadn't he? Because he was much too busy trying to calm down his nerves to think correctly. _Right_.

"I'll organize it later," he responds urgently, taking one of his hands off the wheel and grabbing Arthur's wandering one. "Just relax." He brings the hand up to his lips and places a chaste kiss on it.

"Eames, are you hiding candy again?" He can feel Arthur's glare burning into him, daring him to lie, but Eames doesn't have a reason to lie, because there aren't any in the car. Or at least, none to his knowledge.

"No, of course not. You took them all out." Eames glances over at his partner quickly before turning back to the road.

Arthur doesn't seem satisfied. "Yes, of course," he answers, but with his other hand, he plunges into the pile of CDs, and, much to Eames' horror, pulls out the bag. "Kay Jewelers?" _Fuck_. "What did you buy?"

"Something." Eames gives Arthur another one of his smiles before reaching over and snagging the bag back (the damn receipt is in there too).

"Something— let me guess, another watch?" Eames intellectually decides not to answer, which makes Arthur sigh. "You have at least ten, and out of those ten, you only wear one."

"Arthur, please," he starts, pulling into a parking space and turning off the engine. "Let's just enjoy ourselves today and not worry about anything."

Arthur gives him an irritated look, but Eames bats it away with a kiss. By now, he knows how to twist the younger man around his finger; he knows how to calm the other down— most of the time— and that's with a gentle kiss. Simple, delicate— it's all Arthur needs to forget about lecturing him.

"Alright. Fine." Arthur grumbles as he moves out of the car.

Eames immediately follows suit. "Don't be like that, Arthur." He says as he closes the door and rounds the car to wrap his arm around the ex-point man's waist. "I love you," he whispers, nudging him a bit.

"_Eames_."

"I want our love to be like pi— irrational and never ending." His heart is positively thundering against his chest as he utters this pick up line, because if Arthur clues in, that means he's getting on one knee.

But Arthur doesn't pick up the hint.

"I'm going to buy our admission," he states, pushing himself away from the Englishman.

Eames isn't entirely sure if he should be feeling gleeful or not. Yes, he got out of proposing, but if Arthur didn't catch that—

He has to try another one, but not now— perhaps at a restaurant or somewhere else more ... romantic.

Holding that in mind, Eames tails Arthur to the carnival's entrance.

**... ~ ...**

Arthur is embarrassed. He has been standing here for almost ten minutes now, and the carnie looks like he's about to die from keeping his laughter in. Not that Arthur blames him; Eames' throws are way off, and when he offered to throw one, Eames responded with "oh, no; that would defeat the purpose of me winning you something." Furthermore, a crowd decides to gather around, making Arthur more uncomfortable.

"You're being outrageous, Eames," he states with his arms folded across his chest. "You already spent fifteen. You're not going to get it."

"The least you can do is encourage me, darling. I'm doing this for you." Eames gives him a gentle smile before turning toward the game and hurling another one of the rock-hard balls at the standing plates. He misses, like nine times before.

"Honestly, I don't need a stuffed animal," he huffs. "Eames, I'm _thirty-two_."

"Nonsense, Arthur. Cobb still has stuffed animals in his house."

Arthur can't believe him, because that's the most— "He has _kids_— _two_ kids."

"Right, right." Eames replies as he hands another five dollar bill over to the carnie. "Okay, I'm done after this." Though Arthur doesn't believe that, he simply sighs and gazes off.

He hears the first of the three balls hitting the mattress behind the plates. The second one misses too. And the third— ah, nope. Missed.

"Okay, let's go." Arthur grabs Eames' wrist and gently tugs him away, but Eames doesn't budge.

"One more?" he asks with a slight pout.

And if the crowd isn't chanting "_one more time!_", then Arthur wouldn't have let go, but since they are, he releases his grasp and stands back, ticked.

"One more time," he says sternly, giving his partner a pointed look.

"Say, how 'bout a free throw, yeah?" The carnie winks at Arthur before handing a ball to Eames. "Go ahead. Lucky ball you go there, too. Many won from that one."

Arthur resists the temptation to roll his eyes.

But Eames hits the plate, and it shatters. So maybe it is a lucky ball.

"And he finally hits one, ladies and gentlemen! Now, which one do you want?"

Arthur peers up at the stuffed animals, makes a face, then glances over at Eames, who, along with the others, are looking at him intently. Figuring that he has to choose, he gazes up again and nods once at the large snake. "That one."

"This one?" the carnie points to the snake. Arthur nods. "Alrighty, then. Here ya go."

After catching the large stuffed animal, Arthur grabs Eames' hand and drags him away from the gaming booth. "Never again," he mutters over and over until they're behind a tent, where Arthur successfully manages to transfer the snake over to his partner. "Never do that again. Never. _Never_. People were _watching_. They were _laughing_, and—" Arthur slaps him lightly. "Are you listening?"

No, Eames is not. He's laughing like it's actually hilarious when it's absolutely not.

"Eames, stop that." Another slap. "It's not that funny— it's not funny at all, actually." Slap. "People are going to think you're high. _Eames_—" Kiss.

Okay, that shuts him up. Good. And oh— _oh_.

He shouldn't have done that. Anyone could have seen it.

Pulling away, Arthur desperately fights the blush rising in his cheeks.

Fortunately, Eames doesn't take notice; instead he asks, "Do you like funnel cake?" and gives Arthur's hand a slight squeeze.

Arthur wrinkles his nose a bit. He isn't the biggest fan of funnel cake; the powder always ends up on his outfit, and not to mention, it's greasy on top of sweet. But, nevertheless, he glances around and spies a vendor selling that specific treat. "Somewhat," he answers, turning back to Eames. "Why, do you want one?"

"Oh, no, _no_, I'm just asking—"

Sometimes Arthur just really loves Eames; other times he wants to fucking slaughter him. This is one of the moments in which Arthur doesn't know whether to love or hate him, but he doesn't linger on the thoughts.

"We're getting one, then." he states, pulling Eames along to the stand in order to purchase a plate. After thanking the seller, he drags his partner to the side and holds the treat in front of him.

"Thank you, my dear." Eames kisses his cheek. "You know me too well."

Arthur heaves another sigh as he gazes off, allowing Eames to pig out over the funnel cake. Within five minutes or so, the plate is drawn from him, and something pokes him in the cheek. Frowning, he glances over and opens his mouth to make a comment about how _rude_ that was, but before he can, a piece of funnel cake is shoved into his mouth, giving him no choice but to chew.

"Delightful, isn't it?" Eames questions while picking up another piece and poking Arthur's lips with it. "A bit fattening, but good, nonetheless."

Arthur leans back and shakes his head. "I had enough."

Eames gives him a look. "You sure?"

Brown eyes flicker down to the half-eaten funnel cake as he considers. He shouldn't be eating this stuff, but it's actually good, dammit.

"One more bite."

Well, that one bite turns into a couple more bites, and within another five minutes, the plate is clean. After throwing it away along with the napkins they wiped their sticky fingers on, Arthur allows Eames to take his hand as they walk.

Conversation ceases to rise as they make their way through the crowded carnival, but Arthur finds the quiet moments between them to be one of the loudest. Just having Eames hold his hand makes him truly smile (which is something hard to achieve). It allows him to actually feel _wanted_. He never had these emotions before, and in a way, that makes him scared. To him, it feels like he's clinging onto Eames— like he doesn't want him to go. He's also cautious when he does or says things; he's afraid that one day Eames would pack up and leave. And the amount of fear he has for losing his current partner makes him feel vulnerable and absolutely pathetic.

But hopefully, Eames leaving is not any time soon.

It's been a year since Eames dropped by with his bags and told him that he was moving in. Arthur rejected him at first, as expected, but when he made the decision to let the other stay, he can very well say that it's the best decision he had ever made. He grew close to the Englishman but not only that; he found himself happy. He found himself waking up each morning, grinning at the sight of Eames sleeping beside him. He found himself smiling every night as he closed his eyes. And above all, he found love.

Arthur finds it hilarious how he's even here, walking with Eames in a _fucking carnival_, holding hands, and trying to conceal a smile. Just a couple of years ago, if Eames made any move like he did a few minutes back, Arthur would have his head.

Eames definitely made him softer. Of course, he's still the badass motherfucker everyone knows about; it's just that ... _Eames_, of all people, made him stop and think before spitting out insults.

He remembers the one time— _that one time _— he insulted Eames, and the other actually _teared up_. He's not sure if Eames was faking it or not, but Arthur still cringes at the thought of it. He didn't mean to say it; it just slipped out, but never again will that happen. And he'll make sure of that.

"You know," Eames starts, dragging Arthur out of his thoughts, "Dr. Phil said that I'm afraid of commitment. I'm determined to prove him wrong, and I want you to help me with it."

Arthur peers over at his boyfriend, his expression masked with confusion. He isn't entirely sure if that's a pick up line or not— it sounds like one, but at the same time, it's almost like ... a proposal. But he knows Eames well; if Eames is going to propose (which, Arthur hopes), then he'll probably put his imagination into good use and come up with a silly proposal idea. Arthur looks forward to that day.

"I think you're committed enough," he answers, nodding once at the snake slung around Eames' neck.

Eames breaks into a smile then a laugh. "That _was_ a lot of commitment, wasn't it?"

Arthur ignores the gut feeling that's nudging him, telling him that Eames is definitely implying something, with a small smile. "Are we ready to go home? We've been here for—" He glances briefly at his watch. "— three hours."

The ex-forger peers around, noting the people, before turning back and nodding. "Yeah. Let's go."

It takes them longer to get home, since they left around the time everyone gets off from work, but Arthur doesn't mind; he's holding a hearty conversation with Eames about Nash and how he sold him and Dom out, to which Eames responds with a look that clearly reads '_I told you so_.'

Once at home, Eames passes out on the couch, and Arthur goes to take a shower. He's completely worn out, since Eames dragged him onto rides that upset his stomach for a little bit. Not to mention, they also walked for two hours straight. So, needless to say, after the shower, he curls up in bed to sleep, and nearly an hour later, wakes up to Eames climbing into bed with him.

After that bit of time spent together, Arthur finds himself buried in research for Ariadne. It's complicated and utterly frustrating, but he manages to get through the entire week. Once Ariadne tells him that the job goes successfully, he finally relaxes, and Eames, being the observant fellow he is, invites him for a drink as celebration. Arthur can't say no to that.

That's how he finds himself in a bar but not just any bar; it's a familiar bar full of drunks dancing and singing. From the looks of it, nothing has changed— well except for the bartender. The stools are the same, the music have the same sort of beat— it's like he went back in time.

"I'm going to find the loo. Order me a drink, will you?" Arthur nods at Eames' request, understanding.

As Eames disappears among the crowd, Arthur waves over the bartender and orders a drink as specified. The bartender's a nice man, somewhat doubled his own age, but much better than the one Arthur had eight or something years ago.

Sipping on his drink, the ex-point man glances around. This place, despite its reputation with him, brings back many memories. He remembers sitting here and observing Eames for the first time— Eames was dancing with many others, and he had absolutely distasteful dance moves (Arthur's happy to say that those dance moves improved over time). He also remembers when Eames caught his eye for a split second, and with that one look, Eames came over and said—

"Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?"

Arthur tilts his head to the side to see Eames snagging the stool beside him.

"You tell me, Mr. Eames," he responds, handing the alcoholic drink over to Eames, who takes it with a smile.

The ex-forger gives him a gentle smile before taking a sip of the drink. "You only ordered one?"

"You're not getting drunk again," Arthur responds firmly. He remembers the last time Eames got extremely drunk— never again does he want to play hide and seek with a naked man.

"Your concern is much appreciated, but I can hold my alcohol well, thank you."

Arthur gives him a stern look before stealing the drink back and taking another sip. The beer flows down his throat, burning it almost. He winces. He doesn't drink beer often— it's usually champagne or wine. Beer has this _fizz_ to it that makes him cringe a bit, but it's alcohol all the same, at least, according to Eames.

"But aside from that, this is the first time we saw each other, mm?" Eames takes a look around before his eyes settle back on Arthur's own.

Arthur grins in agreement. "Brings back memories."

"Certainly," the Englishman responds before downing the rest of the drink.

Arthur scowls a bit. "We were supposed to share that," he states bluntly, giving his partner the '_are you fucking kidding me?_' look.

"Oh?" Eames quirks an eyebrow as he places the glass back on the counter. "We were? My bad. I'll order another one—"

"No, I'm fine." He quickly grabs Eames' hand that's waving the bartender over. "Dance?" He doesn't mind dancing as long as it draws Eames away from the alcohol, and fortunately for him, Eames cooperates.

Arthur slides off the stool and allows himself to be tugged toward the dance floor. Once among the crowd of moving bodies, he slings his arms around Eames' neck and pulls him close. Eames returns the gesture by grabbing Arthur's hips and drawing him in.

"We didn't do this last time we were here," Eames murmurs, "because you ran away."

Arthur grins against his boyfriend's shoulder. "I had a job."

"A minute's dance wouldn't have harmed you."

Arthur doesn't reply to that since Eames is grinding against him. Instead, he picks his head off of his partner's shoulder in order to peer up at him. A light smile is tainted on Eames' lips, making Arthur grin in return.

"Have I ever told you that you're absolutely gorgeous?" Eames questions.

"Yes, a couple of times, actually." Arthur leans in, pressing their chests together. "And you're undeniably handsome."

Eames chuckles. "You're not drunk are you, darling?"

"No," the ex-point man breathes out. "Just intoxicated by you."

For a while, not one word is uttered. Eames simply moves along with the beat of the music, and Arthur does his best to mimick it. After a couple of minutes of mindless grinding and whatnot, Arthur takes note of something pressing against his thigh.

"What's in your pocket?" he questions, blinking up at his mate.

Something crosses Eames' face for a moment, but it flickers away before he can interpret it. "Anything but candy."

Arthur rolls his eyes but ignores it nonetheless. "Come on, let's get out of here." Taking Eames' hand, he leads him away from the dancing crowd and out the bar's door. "Well, that was something," he begins once outside.

"Originally I planned to stay an hour longer," Eames admits, "but oh well. Fancy a walk?"

Arthur peers down the crowded streets. "It's almost eleven, though." His eyes skim the people milling around, carrying shopping bags, talking with friends, or trying to catch a taxi. "We should be getting back."

"You worry too much. We'll be back before midnight." Eames squeezes his hand and gives him a pouty look. And again, Arthur can't help himself.

"Alright, but we're not buying anything."

Eames laughs softly. "I don't think that would be necessary. I have everything I want here with me."

Arthur breaks into a grin once more as Eames pecks his nose and then proceeds to tug him down the sidewalk.

His mind is in a jumble. He wants to say something back— it only feels right to do so, but what can he say? It feels like he already said everything that there is to be said, and things that can't be said are already shown. He'll think of something, and sooner or later, Eames is going to be the one silent and flushing, but not this time.

"Hey," Eames starts suddenly, snapping Arthur from his trance, "it's a cake shop." He points to a small store excitedly.

"We're _not_ buying a cake," Arthur stresses in reply, but he's already being dragged in the direction of the tiny shop. "Eames, seriously. I can make a cake, and we can decorate—"

They stop abruptly in front of the glass that's displaying many fancy cakes. "Wouldn't we look adorable on a wedding cake together?" Eames asks almost breathlessly.

"Yes, we—" Arthur halts in the middle of his words as he allows the question to sink in.

Did Eames just— is he implying something? Eames has been hinting at something the entire week, and now, Arthur has a fair idea of what he's trying to hint at— but it doesn't make any sense. Well, Eames is a person that doesn't make sense, but _still_, it's like he's attempting to _give_ Arthur the idea. And when the idea's given to him, Arthur feels giddy.

"Are you trying to propose to me?" he asks slowly, eyes turning to his partner.

Eames nonchalantly glances in his direction. "Maybe."

"_Maybe?_" Arthur demands, feeling the excitement rise within him.

Eames reaches into his pocket as he responds. "You tell me, Arthur." He pulls out something from his pocket, and Arthur's breath hitches at the sight of it. It's a _ring box_.

"Eames," he says, his voice wavering a bit.

The other ignores that and gets down on one knee, making Arthur's eyes widen. "Will you marry me?"

Arthur stares, his mouth slightly ajar. For a moment, he watches Eames' unfaltering, smiling face as his mind slowly processes the question. And when it finally sinks in—

_Oh my God_.

Suddenly, everyone around them, looking or not, doesn't matter. Arthur brings his hand up to cover his mouth, pushing back the squeals that threaten to escape, and then he nods, giving Eames his answer.

Eames, smiling wider, rises to his feet and envelopes him with his arms immediately after the nods. And Arthur, in response, quickly removes the hand from his mouth to return the hug.

After finding his voice, Arthur speaks up. "Yes," he murmurs, pulling back and kissing Eames once. "_Yes_."

**... ~ ...**

After receiving a call from an excited Arthur about his engagement to Eames (Dom could hardly believe his ears), he immediately called Ariadne, and both of them began planning. The wedding took nearly a year to get together, but it's definitely worth it, because now, Arthur and Eames are standing not too far away from him, both decked in lovely suits, telling each other their vowels. And when they both say "I do", Dom has only one thought: _finally_.

**... ~ finished ~ ...**

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><p><strong>Notes;;<strong> This chapter frustrated me so much. askhdashdasj— D8;; But I managed. Hope it was alright! Aside from that, thank you all for reading and reviewing, and special thanks to those who submitted pick up lines!


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